THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Mrs.  Ben  B.  Lindsey 


P 


WILD   OATS 


By  the  same  author: 

"DR.  RAST" 
"MONDAY   MORNING  AND  OTHER   POEMS" 


WILD   OATS 


By  JAMES  OPPENHEIM 


With  a  Foreword  by 
EDWARD  BOK 


NEW  YORK 

B.  W.  HUEBSCH 

1910 


COPYRIGHT  1910  BY 
B.  W.  HUEBSCH 


All  rights  reserved 


Printed  in  U.  8.  A. 


PS 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  Spring  on  East  Broadway      .  i 

II.     The  Mother 21 

III.  The  First  Night 35 

IV.  The  Second  Night    ....  61 
V.     Spring  Music 89 

VI.  Mr.  Grupp  Interrupts  ...  96 

VII.  The  Golden-Haired  One    .     .  113 

VIII.     Twilight 125 

IX.     Night 154 

X.     Morning  Again 160 

XI.     On  the  Bridge 165 

XII.  The  Three  Rooms    ....  174 

XIII.  Wild  Oats 182 

XIV.  The  Whirlwind 203 

XV.     Sunrise 216 

XVI.  The  Passing  Seasons      .     .     .  230 

XVII.     Indian  Summer 241 

XVIII.     The  Harvest 245 


A  FOREWORD 

This  story  by  Mr.  Oppenheim  comes, 
perhaps,  at  the  psychological  moment  to 
tell — let  me  hope  to  thousands — in  the 
form  of  fiction  what  we  must  very  soon 
face  as  an  actual  living  question  to  be 
squarely  met  and  dealt  with.  For  the  old 
saying  that  "the  truth  is  stranger  than 
fiction"  is  peculiarly  true  of  this  story. 
The  fearful  truth  that  lies  back  of  this 
narrative  cannot  much  longer  remain  in 
the  background  of  the  public  conscience. 
We  are  slowly  but  surely  awakening,  in 
part,  to  a  realizing  sense  that  somewhere  in 
the  social  body  there  is  a  festering  sore 
that  needs  the  surgery  and  cleansing  process 
of  the  light  of  public  discussion  and  ex 
termination  at  the  hands  of  decent  people. 
It  is  not  meeting  the  question  to  contend 
that  it  is  not  a  "nice  subject"  or  a  "polite 
topic":  neither  did -the  ravages  of  tuber 
culosis  make  pleasant  reading.  And  the 


A  FOREWORD 

evil  of  "The  Great  White  Plague"  is  com 
paratively  as  naught  with  the  greater  and 
more  insidious  evil  that  is  being  wrought 
by  "The  Great  Black  Plague,"  with  its 
fearful  results  on  innocent  children.  Mr. 
Oppenheim,  with  due  reserve,  gives  a 
glimpse,  and  it  is  but  a  glimpse,  of  the  bur 
den  we  are  laying  upon  the  next  genera 
tion  by  blinding  not  alone  our  own  eyes  to 
the  death-dealing  evil  that  lies  at  our  very 
door,  but  the  actual  and  pitiable  blinding 
of  the  unborn  and  the  newly-born. 

It  may  be  that  the  work  of  arousing  the 
public  conscience  on  the  great  evils  that 
threaten  the  very  foundations  of  our  social 
structure,  is  in  the  hands  of  the  fictionist. 
This  has  unquestionably  been  true  in  the 
past.  If  it  be  true  of  the  present  evil,  may 
this  story  speak  its  great  and  vibrant  mes 
sage  in  clarion  tones. 

EDWARD  BOK. 
Philadelphia, 
1910. 


Wild  Oats 

CHAPTER  I 

SPRING  ON  EAST  BROADWAY 

SPRING  on  East  Broadway.  The  air 
is  winey,  the  heavens  are  radiant 
blue  and  full  of  fire.  A  sparrow 
chirps  on  the  window-sill,  fluttering  before 
the  milk-glass  sign:  "Doctor  Rast."  Down 
toward  the  East  the  wet  pavement  is 
golden  with  sun,  and  through  the  splendor 
wades  an  ancient  people  on  their  way  to 
work.  For  it  is  early  morning;  early 
April;  the  waters  of  river  and  bay  flash 
about  that  shining  floating  city  of  towers; 
and,  though  the  great  Earth  is  buried  be 
neath  paving  stone  and  brick  and  steel  and 
granite,  her  mighty  yearning  exhales 
through  the  cool  white  air,  and  four  mil- 


2  WILD  OATS 

lion  human  beings  are  dazzled  and  smelted 
in  the  fires  of  Spring. 

The  big  dark  Doctor  was  shaving  before 
a  tiny  wall-mirror  over  the  kitchen  wash 
tub.  He  was  in  shirt  and  trousers,  and 
his  face  was  white  with  lather.  Nell  had 
the  oatmeal  cooking  on  the  hot  stove,  and 
glided  here  and  there  singing  snatches  of 
song.  Her  eager  olive-tinted  face  was 
flushed,  her  brown  eyes  afire.  The  little 
boy  David,  now  nearly  three,  tugged  at  her 
skirts. 

"Mother!    Mother!    Mother!" 

She  swung  him  up  in  her  arms  and 
laughed  in  his  beautiful  face;  for  he  was  a 
rosy  new  boy-god,  straight  and  breathing 
health,  overrunning  with  virility. 

"Well!"  she  shook  him.  "Well,  Blink 
ers!" 

"I'm  not  Blinkers — I'm  Davy,"  he  said 
indignantly. 

"You're  Blinkers!"  she  shook  him  again. 

"I'm  not — you're  Blinkers!" 

"Then  give  me  a  kiss." 

"No — I  can't  love  you." 

"Whom  do  you  love?" 


WILD  OATS  3 

"Daddy!" 

The  Doctor  danced  up  and  down  with 
joy. 

"Mother,"  he  cried,  "the  boy  has 
genius!" 

"No,  I  haven't,"  said  Davy,  "I've  got  a 


new  nose." 


The  Mother  and  Father  laughed,  and 
looked  at  each  other. 

"Where?"  Nell  gave  him  a  squeeze. 

"Here!"  he  delicately  touched  his  nose 
with  one  finger. 

"And  where  did  you  get  it?" 

"I  bought  it." 

"Where?" 

"I  bought  it  in  the  store." 

"With  what?"  cried  the  Doctor. 

"A  dollar,"  said  Davy  calmly. 

"And  who  gave  you  a  dollar,  you  ras 
cal?" 

"Mother  gave  me  a  dollar."  The  little 
imagination  was  set  at  work,  and  the  little 
lips  poured  a  wild  stream  of  words,  a 
breathless  recitation:  "I  got  a  dollar  and 
I  went  to  the  store  and  I  said  give  me  a 
new  nose,  and  I  gave  the  man  a  dollar  and 


4  WILD  OATS 

he  gave  me  a  nose.  Isn't  that  funny?  And 
then  I  went  to  another  store,  and  what  do 
you  think  happened?" 

"What?"  cried  his  parents. 

Three  times  he  told  his  story,  winding 
up,  "Isn't  that  funny?  And  then  I  went 
to  another  store,  and  what  do  you  think 
happened?" 

Nell  and  the  Doctor  laughed  till  the 
tears  came,  for  they  were  the  Mother  and 
the  Father  and  only  they  shared  the  secret 
of  the  miracle. 

Then  Nell  put  the  boy  down,  and  while 
he  capered  with  excitement,  put  a  wooden 
bowl  on  a  chair,  filled  it  with  cut  vege 
tables,  and  gave  him  a  chopper.  He  set  to 
work  with  a  will,  chopping  the  vegetables, 
a  tiny  mite  laboring  like  a  man.  He  looked 
up. 

"I'm  a  helper,  Mother,  I'm  a  helper!" 

Nell  whispered  to  the  Doctor: 

"Just  watch!" 

And  they  put  their  arms  round  each 
other,  and  leaned  close,  smiling: 

"Look,"  said  Nell,  "he  does  it  just  as  I 


WILD  OATS  5 

do — scrapes  round  the  side  and  chops  in 
toward  the  center.  Isn't  it  wonderful?" 

The  Doctor  sighed: 

"And  to  think  that  he  came  to  the  world 
through  us!  That  we  had  a  hand  in  cre 
ating  him!  Pretty  good  work,  Nell!" 

The  little  fellow  ran  to  the  cupboard, 
obtained  imaginary  salt  with  his  hand,  and 
hurried  back  to  sprinkle  his  hash.  He 
could  not  contain  himself  for  joy.  He 
turned  to  his  mother  and  cried  in  a  wild 
treble  music: 

"Oh,  I  love  you  so  much,  I  don't  know 
what  to  do!" 

The  Doctor  shouted;  the  young  Mother 
snatched  up  her  baby  and  hugged  him  to 
her  heart. 

Truly  it  was  Springtime;  joy  was  in  the 
air,  and  new  life;  and  the  Earth  had  her 
way  with  the  stone  city.  That  little  kitchen, 
with  its  shafts  of  bright  light  through  the 
window,  sang  like  a  clearing  in  a  wilder 
ness.  And  even  as  the  Earth  enfolded  with 
love  and  tenderness  her  young  buds,  her 
song-stricken  birds,  her  singing  waters, 


6  WILD  OATS 

even  so  this  man  and  woman  enfolded  their 
living  child. 

"He  is  like  a  little  bird,"  said  the  Doc 
tor,  "so  full  of  song;  so  fresh;  so  sweet. 
And  like  a  little  blossom." 

He  went  on  and  finished  his  dressing, 
and  the  boy  toiled  and  sang  aloud,  and  the 
Mother  prepared  breakfast.  Then  the 
Doctor  touched  Nell  on  her  shoulder. 

"Shall  I  tell  you  a  secret,  Mother?" 

"Yes.    What  is  it?" 

He  seized  both  her  arms  and  looked  in 
her  face. 

"Spring  is  here!" 

They  smiled  at  one  another. 

"What  does  it  remind  you  of?"  he  went 
on. 

"Us." 

And  then  she  whispered: 

"I'm  always  full  of  yearning  in  the 
Spring.  Remember  the  nights  we  used  to 
walk  together?" 

"Moonlight  nights  I" 

"Oh,  I  wish  we  were  in  love  again!" 

He  smiled  and  drew  her  close. 

"Let's  be,  then,"  he  whispered.     "Let's 


WILD  OATS  7 

have  the  old  enchantment  again — the  old 
witchery.  A  kiss  in  secret — a  walk  through 
deserted  streets — a  quarrel — romance!" 

"And  let's  elope!"  she  cried. 

"Yes,"  he  said  with  a  grin,  "but  we'll  be 
original,  sweetheart.  We'll  take  the  boy 
with  us!" 

Whereupon  they  laughed,  and  the  scene 
turned  human  again,  and  they  sat  and  ate  a 
hearty  breakfast,  and  were  glad  that  life 
was  so  full  of  commonplaces.  For  what 
more  can  a  man  ask  than  to  eat  breakfast 
with  his  wife  and  his  son  on  a  Spring 
morning? 

Then,  after  breakfast,  the  Doctor  felt  too 
happy  to  work,  so  Davy  was  shoved  into 
a  coat  and  hat,  and  his  father  took  him  out 
into  the  street,  and  they  went  wandering  to 
gether.  The  first  breath  of  that  cool  pure 
air,  the  first  sight  of  golden  pave  and  clear 
blue  sky,  the  first  thrill  of  sun,  changed 
the  Doctor  into  a  young  boy.  He  and  Davy 
babbled  together  like  closest  chums. 

Many  passing  nodded  to  the  Doctor. 
Old  women  in  wigs  and  shawls,  old  men 
bearded  and  wrinkled,  mothers  leading 


8  WILD  OATS 

children,  young  men  on  the  way  to  work, 
cheerily  spoke  a  good  morning  and  passed. 
The  old-fashioned  red  street,  with  a  horse- 
car  passing,  with  the  Educational  Alliance 
lifting  yellow  opposite  and  a  crowd  of 
children  lined  up  at  the  door,  was  beauti 
ful  to  the  Doctor.  Every  step  was  rich 
with  associations,  bloody  almost  with  the 
life  of  the  past.  For  the  Doctor  had  been 
working  in  the  Ghetto  for  years  now;  he 
had  come  down  with  his  young  wife  to 
serve  his  own  people — serve  them  not  with 
drug  and  knife  alone,  but  rather  with  un 
derstanding,  with  wisdom  and  with  love. 
And  so  his  name  had  gone  out  to  thou 
sands,  his  face  in  the  doorway  made  the 
sick  strong,  his  counsel  was  sought  in  mat 
ters  of  birth  and  of  life  and  death.  He 
was  the  best-loved  man  in  the  East  Side. 

And  so,  as  he  and  Davy  babbled  together 
through  the  joyous  morning,  he  was  greeted 
by  many  as  they  passed.  Suddenly  a  young 
voice  cried: 

"Good  morning!" 

The  Doctor  looked  up.  It  was  Edith 
Kroll,  a  girl  of  seventeen — young  as  the 


WILD   OATS  9 

morning.  A  faint  flush  was  in  her  fresh 
cheeks,  her  blue  eyes  were  full  of  soft  light, 
her  light  brown  hair  went  out  in  strands 
that  fluttered  in  the  stirring  air.  She  was 
graceful,  slim,  exquisite,  her  little  blue  hat 
contrasting  with  the  blue  of  her  eyes.  As 
she  cried  "good  morning"  her  face  was  lit 
with  soft  laughter,  and  she  leaned  quickly 
and  kissed  Davy  on  the  cheek. 

Davy  shrieked:     "Don't  do  that!" 

The  Doctor  laughed,  and  took  her  little 
cool  hand  in  both  of  his. 

"Well!  Edith!"  he  cried.  "Nun  ya,  how 
goes  it?" 

The  girl's  cheeks  burned,  and  she  looked 
down  shyly. 

"Oh,"  she  said  hastily,  and  withdrew  her 
hand,  "I  was  just  going  to  stop  in  a  mo 
ment." 

His  voice  took  on  concern. 

"Is  anything  the  matter?" 

"Nothing  much,"  she  murmured,  "Moth 
er  isn't  so  well  again.  Do  you  want  to  go 
and  see  her?" 

"Surely!"  he  said  heartily,  and  snatched 
at  Davy  who  was  bound  for  the  gutter. 


io  WILD  OATS 

"Well,"  he  went  on,  "how  are  you?" 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right." 

"And  the  job?" 

"It's  good."  She  looked  up,  smiling,  "I 
got  a  raise  last  month." 

"A  raise!"  he  whistled,  "why,  splendid!" 

"I'm  getting  twelve  a  week  now." 

He  spoke  tenderly: 

"Edith,  I'm  glad.  But  I'm  not  surprised. 
All  my  girls  are  wonders!" 

She  flushed  hotter  with  the  praise,  and 
her  eyes  shone  as  she  looked  down  on  the 
pavement  and  played  with  her  hands. 

The  Doctor  smiled  softly: 

"How  you've  changed,  how  you've 
grown!  Tut,  I'm  getting  to  be  an  old 


man." 


She  looked  up  sharply: 

"No,  you're  not!" 

He  groaned. 

"But  are  you  sure?" 

"Yes,"  she  cried  "sure." 

He  murmured  absently: 

"I  just  wonder  if  Edith  is  in  love." 

She  seemed  startled  and  surprised: 


WILD  OATS  1 1 

"No!  never!"  she  spoke  vehemently  "Pm 
never  going  to  marry." 

"Never?" 

"Why  should  I?" 

Again  he  spoke  absently,  his  lips  twitch 
ing  with  smiles: 

"Davy,  it's  a  habit  girls  have,  isn't  it? 
Wait,  till  she  meets  the  right  man,  eh, 
Davy?" 

Davy  laughed  knowingly,  though  he  had 
to  force  himself  to  do  it,  and  the  sound  re 
sembled  a  cackle. 

"See?"  triumphed  the  Doctor. 

But  Edith  only  darted  down  and  kissed 
the  young  fellow,  cried  a  "good-by,"  and 
ran  off  laughing.  The  Doctor  watched  her 
Igvingly  as  she  swung  down  the  block  and 
round  the  corner,  a  graceful  young  girl, 
light  on  her  feet  as  a  faun,  dancing  over 
the  April  earth  like  a  flame  in  the  blue 
morning. 

She  hurried  through  the  playground 
park.  Just  a  hint  of  fresh  green  tipped  the 
boughs  of  the  glistening  trees,  and  here  and 
there  in  the  branches  blackbirds  loosed 


12  WILD  OATS 

their  dark  raucous  cries;  sparrows  crowded 
the  walk  where  an  old  man  was  scattering 
bread  crumbs;  and  troops  of  little  chil 
dren,  laughing,  chattering,  walked  and  ran 
toward  the  big  white  public  school.  They 
seemed  like  human  sparrows,  or,  rather, 
blackbirds  and  redbirds,  overrunning  with 
laughter  and  song.  Higher  rose  the  sun 
over  the  swarming  city;  the  air  was  white 
haunted  with  gold;  the  heavens  seemed  to 
dream  and  yearn,  they  were  so  blue,  and 
steeped  in  these  mysterious  fires  the  heart 
of  the  young  girl  seemed  to  empty  with 
yearning.  What  she  wanted  she  hardly 
knew.  Was  it  to  leave  the  city,  and  go  out 
beyond  the  horizon  into  some  enchanted 
wilderness?  Did  she  long  to  sit  at  the  side 
of  some  wild  water  and  brood  and  dream? 
Or  did  she  want  people?  Did  she  crave 
human  words,  human  touch,  human  faces? 
No,  she  wanted  something  wilder,  sweeter. 
How  could  she  know  that  she  was  in  the 
throes  of  adolescence,  that  she  was  awak 
ing  to  sex,  that  hereafter  there  would  be 
two  miracles  on  Earth:  man  and  woman? 
How  could  she  know  what  the  word  love 


WILD  OATS  13 

meant  as  between  girls  and  boys?  The 
Doctor  had  whispered  of  marriage,  but 
looking  on  the  young  men  that  passed,  she 
saw  no  glamour.  The  Doctor  was  her  ideal 
of  a  man — and  these  these  were  very  unlike 
him. 

Sweet  Edith!  Just  seventeen — seventeen 
years  in  the  heart  of  the  deep  city — and  yet 
a  simple  and  innocent  and  quiet  life.  Pub 
lic  school,  shorthand  school,  the  job  in  the 
clothing  business — her  few  friends,  her 
two  brothers,  her  ailing  mother.  She  had 
had  a  taste  of  theater;  she  had  gone  to 
night  school ;  she  sometimes  attended  a  lec 
ture,  or  a  meeting  of  the  people  at  Cooper 
Union.  But  thus  far,  though  the  wild  city 
whirled  like  a  cyclone  about  her,  with  its 
Broadway,  its  Bowery,  its  crime  and  com 
merce,  its  toil  and  struggle  and  tragi 
comedy  of  millions  of  living  people,  Edith 
had  lived  in  the  quiet  center  of  the  storm, 
a  life  immured,  innocent,  and  had  grown 
naturally  as  flower  unfolding  from  bud. 

She  was  at  the  perilous  age.  From  un 
conscious  childhood  she  had  emerged,  and 
found  that  she,  too,  was  a  miracle — a  hu- 


14  WILD  OATS 

man  being  capable  of  the  depths  and 
heights  of  life,  packed  with  all  sweet  possi 
bilities.  All  the  world  was  new;  a  wonder 
was  everywhere.  Romance  lurked  in  fa 
miliar  corners,  transfiguring  them.  Any 
thing  might  break  open  in  her  heart  now 
and  sweep  her  with  the  passions  that  drive 
a  life  to  divine  heights  or  ruin  it. 

Sweet  Edith!  There  she  was  that  young 
Spring  morning,  living,  breathing,  hurry 
ing  through  the  crowds  of  children,  inno 
cent  as  they,  fresh  as  a  new  wild-rose,  light 
on  her  feet,  and  full  of  the  yearning  fire 
of  the  blue.  Can't  you  see  her,  her  little 
blue  hat  stuck  with  a  black  feather,  her 
bending  blue-eyed  face,  her  lithe  little  body 
gracefully  gliding  through  the  cool  air? 
Surely  she  was  made  for  happiness,  for 
motherhood  and  home,  and  all  the  quiet 
round  of  human  life! 

She  turned  into  shining  Grand  Street; 
she  walked  down  the  street  to  a  tall  loft- 
building,  entered,  climbed  a  flight  of 
stairs,  and  pushed  open  a  door  into  the 
"factory."  There  in  twilight  were  the  gar 
ment-makers,  stitching,  cutting,  and  crazily 


WILD  OATS  15 

racing  the  machines.  She  passed  through 
the  hubbub  to  the  front,  opened  a  door  of 
a  partition,  and  stepped  into  the  offices. 
There  were  four  of  these,  partitioned  from 
each  other,  and  connected  by  doors.  The 
center  one  was  the  show-room,  with  large 
oak-table,  and  racks.  Two  young  men 
were  chatting  at  the  open  window  and  gaz 
ing  down  at  the  street.  Edith  did  not  no 
tice  them,  but  passed  into  the  adjoining 
office,  took  off  hat  and  coat,  opened  the  win 
dow,  pulled  the  cover  from  the  typewriter, 
and  set  to  work  busily  cleaning  the  ma 
chine.  The  hum  of  the  young  men's  voices 
reached  her,  but  she  paid  no  heed  to  their 
words. 

The  young  men  were  chatting  amiably. 
One  of  them  was  Frank  Lasser,  the  new 
traveling  salesman,  territory  Pennsylvania 
— a  smartly  dressed  fellow,  almost  inso 
lently  handsome.  He  had  large  black  eyes, 
a  little  brown  mustache,  and  black  hair 
smoothly  plastered  on  a  high  forehead. 
His  chin  was  weak.  He  spoke  volubly  and 
cynically.  His  companion  was  Jonas  Zug, 
salesman  for  New  York  State,  young,  but 


'16  WILD  OATS 

almost  bald.  As  they  talked  trade  and  ter 
ritory,  a  barrel  organ  in  the  street  below 
loosed  a  wild  waltz-music.  The  young 
men  leaned  out  of  the  window.  Four  lit 
tle  school-girls  had  handed  their  books  to 
others  and  were  dancing  in  the  center  of 
an  absorbed  circle  of  people.  They  exe 
cuted,  not  a  waltz,  but  a  wild  street-dance, 
passionate,  swift,  their  whole  bodies  play 
ing  rhythmically.  One  forgot  tattered 
shoes  and  torn  aprons  and  thin  cheeks — 
so  wild  a  magic  was  wrought  by  the  dance. 
All  the  fresh  glory  of  the  morning,  all  the 
yearning  and  fire  of  the  sun  and  the  air, 
seemed  to  pulse  through  the  world  from 
them. 

Zug  spoke  grimly: 

"That's  where  the  chorus  girls  come 
from,  eh?  My!  but  they  dance!" 

Frank  laughed,  and  pointed: 

"See  that  one  with  the  red  sweater? 
Ain't  she  a  peach,  though?" 

She  was  a  strange  creature — a  girl  with 
fiery  black  eyes,  glossy  black  hair  flying 
wild.  She  danced  with  a  weird  fury, 
throwing  back  her  head  now  and  then, 


WILD  OATS  17 

shaking  out  her  curls;  her  little  feet  flew, 
kicked,  whirled;  her  thin  arms  and  hands 
darted  snakily,  out,  up,  under.  Something 
of  the  burning  desert  was  in  the  face,  some 
thing  of  the  tropical  in  her  motions;  she 
seemed  like  the  ominous  fire-shot  smoke- 
plume  of  a  volcano.  The  crowd  was  fasci 
nated,  drawing  closer;  there  was  a  queer 
feeling  that  mighty  destinies  hung  on  the 
dance;  that  it  was  leading  somewhere;  that 
it  was  moving  toward  some  crisis. 

Zug  breathed  fast  and  watched  sharply. 
And  then  the  music  ceased  and  the  girl 
stopped  short.  A  noise  of  many  voices  went 
up  about  her. 

"Gee!"  said  Frank,  "in  a  few  years  that 
girl  will  be  worth  trapping." 

Zug  turned  angrily,  and  raised  his  voice: 

"Quit  it,  will  you?  Can't  you  think  of 
anything  else,  Lasser?" 

"Well,  well!"  Frank  whistled.  "We're 
getting  virtuous  in  our  old  age,  ain't  we?" 

Zug  spoke  with  uncalled-for  passion: 

"I'm   getting   decent,    Lasser,    and   you 


Frank  laughed: 


1 8  WILD  OATS 

"So  you've  finished  sowing  your  wild 
oats — Congratulations!  Have  you  set  the 
date?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

Suddenly  the  air  grew  electric,  as  with 
two  souls  grappling  in  a  death  struggle. 
Frank  was  amazed,  startled;  but  he  spoke 
lightly. 

"I  mean,  when's  the  wedding,  eh?" 

"Whose  wedding?" 

"Oh,  come  off,"  said  Frank  cynically, 
"how  should  I  know  her  name." 

"Whose  name?" 

"The  lady's.  Is  she  on  the  premises? 
Is  she  a  sweatshop  lady?" 

Zug  squared  a  fist,  and  his  voice  rose 
and  rang  with  passion: 

"Now,  see  here,  Lasser,  I  say  you'll  cut 
this  out.  Understand?" 

"Oh,  that's  it!"  laughed  Frank  easily. 
"You've  got  it  bad,  Jonas." 

Zug's  voice  rose  higher,  and  he  raised  his 
fist: 

"Damn  you— 

Then,  suddenly,  he  dropped  his  hand, 
and  stood  back,  abashed,  ashamed,  his  face 


WILD  OATS  19 

very  pale.  At  the  same  moment  a  light 
delicate  hand  touched  Frank's  arm,  and  a 
low  sweet  voice  quivered  at  his  ear: 

"You  must  both  stop  this — both." 

Frank  turned,  and  looked  into  Edith's 
face.  The  light  of  the  blue  eyes  went  into 
him,  running  after  the  music  of  the  voice. 
He  saw  the  lips  quiver;  he  saw  the  wisps  of 
light-brown  hair;  the  wild-rose  cheeks. 
Strength  went  out  of  him;  cynicism  left 
him.  And  then  he  heard  Zug  speaking  in 
a  low,  humble  voice: 

"I  didn't  mean  it,  Miss  Edith,  I  didn't 
mean  it.  I'm  sorry — awfully  sorry." 

Edith  spoke  sadly: 

"I'm  sure  you  only  forgot  yourself,  Mr. 
Zug." 

And  she  was  gone — vanishing  like  a  star 
tled  fawn. 

Truly  it  was  the  Springtime — and  Earth 
was  yearning  as  she  enfolded  her  creatures 
with  strength  and  love;  the  air  was  cool; 
the  heavens  utterly  blue;  and  the  fires 
touched  a  heart  here  and  there  and  woke 
it  to  dream  and  mystery  and  wild  enchant 
ment.  Frank  Lasser  was  young  in  years, 


20  WILD  OATS 

but  far  from  the  pure  beauty  of  this  world. 
He  did  not  know  girls  of  this  type.  As  he 
stood  helpless,  he  felt  as  if  a  new  Power 
was  clutching  at  his  heart. 

And  then  he  looked  at  Zug  and  saw  a  re 
morseful  face  and  tear-stained  eyes — a  man 
stricken  down. 

"Oh,"  he  murmured,  "I  see!    I  see!" 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  MOTHER 

DOCTOR  RAST  didn't  get  around  to 
see  Mrs.  Kroll  till  late  that  after 
noon.  The  enchantment  of  the 
morning  proved  to  be  but  a  promise  of 
Spring — a  promise  unfulfilled.  Clouds  en 
gulfed  the  city,  darkening  the  streets.  The 
wind  blew  wild,  scattering  dust.  People 
hurried;  pedlars  raced  their  pushcarts 
along;  windows  were  slammed  shut.  There 
was  something  ominous  in  the  air,  a  mo 
mentary  expectation  of  rain  and  storm. 

The  Doctor  could  not  help  feeling  the 
power  of  the  weather — how  the  human 
race  is  driven  before  the  changing  atmos 
phere.  A  blue  morning  shakes  out  four 
million  people  exultant  and  daring;  a  black 
afternoon  sweeps  them  shivering  home.  He 
himself  felt  the  tragedy  of  the  day — the 
21 


22  WILDCATS 

sweet  bubbling  April  broken  and  ruined. 
Full  of  these  thoughts,  as  he  passed  the  gas- 
lit  shops  of  Clinton  Street,  he  paused  and 
entered  a  draughty  hall  and  climbed  two 
dark  flights  of  stairs. 

He  knocked  in  front,  and  getting  no  an 
swer,  tried  the  door.  It  was  unlocked.  A 
gust  of  air  blew  in  with  him.  He  stepped 
through  the  dark  kitchen,  through  a  dark 
inner  room  to  the  open  doorway  of  an 
other.  As  he  stood  a  moment  he  could  see 
the  window  of  the  parlor  in  front  gray  and 
dim,  and  suddenly  lashed  with  rain. 

"May  I  come  in?"  he  said  softly. 

"Ach,  ya,  Doktor,"  came  a  plaintively 
glad  voice  from  the  darkness.  aAch,  I 
waited — all  day!" 

There  was  a  low  light  burning,  and  the 
Doctor  reached  and  turned  it  big.  It  was 
a  neat  tidy  room,  mostly  filled  with  the 
wooden  double-bed.  Mrs.  Kroll  was  in 
bed,  propped  by  pillows — a  large  fat 
woman,  with  a  worn  and  wasted  flabby  face. 
Her  eyes  especially  had  a  wasted  look,  sur 
rounded  by  touches  of  red  and  gray  and  yel- 


WILD  OATS  23 

low  flesh.  Her  nose  was  large;  her  lips 
large.  She  was  breathing  heavily. 

The  Doctor  felt  a  pang  of  remorse  for 
his  enforced  tardiness;  it  had  been  a 
crowded  day.  He  sat  down  on  a  chair  at 
the  bedside. 

"Mrs.  Kroll,"  he  said  gravely,  "forgive 
me  for  making  you  wait." 

"Ach,"  she  smiled,  abut  you  are  here. 
I  could  feel  better  already." 

And  to  the  simple  woman  his  presence 
seemed  to  overflow  the  room.  She  mut 
tered: 

"Does  it  rain?" 

"Listen!"  he  said. 

They  heard  in  the  hush  the  mighty  sweep 
of  the  storm,  on  roof,  and  window,  and 
pavement.  She  shook  her  head. 

"My  Edy  gets  wet  then?" 

The  Doctor  laughed  softly: 

"No  worrying!  Edith  can  take  care  of 
herself!  I  want  you  to  brace  up,  and  feel 
better,  and  be  happy!" 

She  smiled  sweetly: 

"No,  Doktor,  it  is  too  late." 


24  WILD  OATS 

The  sound  of  the  rain  darkened  over 
him,  but  he  leaned  closer  and  spoke  with  a 
touch  of  tenderness: 

"Well,  tell  me  how  you  are  feeling." 

She  began  at  once,  after  the  Jewish  man 
ner,  and  described  her  symptoms: 

"Doktor,  I'm  a  sick  woman.  You 
couldn't  tell  how  sick  I  am.  Eat  I  a  sau 
sage  day  before  yesterday  for  supper,  and 
it  stick  in  my  stomach  and  make  me  stoss 
auf  (belch)  and  I  feel  gas  on  my  heart, 
so  it  goes  jump  like  a  baby.  And  such  a 
rheumatismMj  in  my  leg  I  got,  like  it  was 
crazy.  And  my  head!  And  my  hand! 
And  my  stomach!  I  get  very  nervous.  I 
could  vomit  my  insides  out.  Um  Gottes 
willen  (for  God's  sake)  how  sick  I  am. 
Doktor,  I  think  I'm  a  very  sick  woman.  I 
got  four  children,  one  dead,  holy  God,  but 
not  such  pains  as  these." 

The  Doctor  knew  the  case  well,  and  so 
he  did  not  smile,  but  spoke  even  more  ten 
derly: 

"There  is  one  thing  you  must  do." 

She  put  up  a  bony  hand: 

"Don't  tell  me  to  take  castor  oil,  Doktor. 


WILD  OATS  25 

I  couldn't  do  it.  Rather  would  I  die  right 
away,  and  be  done  with  it." 

The  Doctor  smiled: 

"No,  it  isn't  that." 

"Neither  can  I  stay  in  bed.  A  woman 
must  work." 

"Not  that — either." 

Mrs.  Kroll  glanced  at  him,  and  spoke  in 
a  scared  voice: 

"To  the  hospital?" 

"No,"  he  said  quietly,  "not  that.  Some 
thing  very  simple  and  good." 

She  was  ready  to  listen  to  him  then,  and 
asked  what  it  was. 

The  Doctor  leaned  close  and  spoke 
gently: 

"Don't  worry." 

Much  pathos  went  into  her  voice  then. 

"Ah,  worry?    I  must  not  worry?" 

"Listen,"  he  said  very  gently,  "you  can 
live  many  years  yet  and  be  very  happy,  if 
you  live  quietly — if  you  don't  worry  and 
get  excited  and  worked  up.  Many,  many 
years." 

"And  if  I  don't  stop  worrying — no?" 

He  said  nothing,  for  his  throat  caught 


26  WILD  OATS 

slightly.  The  noise  of  the  rain  rose  upon 
them  and  seemed  to  the  poor  woman  to  be 
sounding  her  death.  It  was  very  strange 
to  be  alive,  and  yet  to  be  so  near  the  pass 
ing.  Then  she  heard  the  Doctor  saying 
softly: 

"What  should  you  worry  about?" 

"My  boys,"  she  sobbed. 

The  Doctor  spoke  in  a  queer  voice: 

"Why  I  thought  they  were  mighty  good 
boys!" 

"Yes,"  she  sobbed,  "but  it's  America, 
Doktor.  In  the  old  country  we  Jews  were 
very  different.  We  were  pious  and  good 
and  the  children  loved  God.  But  here  the 
children  care  for  nothing — nothing  but  fun. 
They  think  a  pious  boy  ain't  stylish.  They 
think  their  Mother  is  a  back-number.  So 
they  run  wild,  and  nothing  stops  them. 
They  will  never  marry.  If  only  my  good 
man,  selig,  were  alive!" 

"The  boys!"  muttered  the  Doctor.  "Yes, 
our  Jewish  boys  all  sow  their  wild  oats." 

The  woman's  voice  arose  and  she  gave 
vent  to  the  tragedy  of  her  life : 

"When  my  man  died,   I   thought  these 


WILD  OATS  27 

boys  would  take  his  place.  I  thought  I 
should  be  a  proud  Mother.  Ach,  they  hurt 
the  heart  like  strangers — my  heart  is  zer- 
rissen  (ripped).  They  have  made  me  old 
—I'm  not  such  an  old  woman  like  I  look — 
they  make  my  hair  gray.  Maybe  they  think 
I'm  not  like  other  women."  She  became 
excited.  "Maybe  they  think  such  an  ugly 
thing  don't  want  love  and  sweet  words  and 
good  children.  Maybe  they  forget  what  I 
done  for  them — how  I  got  backache  and 
hard  hands  bringing  them  up — how  I  work 
and  work  and  work — I  just  kill  myself 
working  for  my  children.  Ach,  Gott,  it's 
not  good  to  be  a  Mother."  She  suddenly 
sat  up  in  bed,  her  eyes  flashed,  and  she  cried 
out:  "Look  at  me!  See  what  my  children 
done  to  me!" 

The  Doctor  spoke  firmly: 

"It's  just  this  you  mustn't  do.  You 
mustn't  give  way  like  this.  You  must  con 
trol  yourself." 

"Huh !"  she  muttered.  "It's  easy  to  say." 
She  fell  back  on  the  pillow  and  pressed  her 
breast.  "But  I've  got  a  heart — here!" 

In  the  silence  again  came  the  noise  of 


28  WILD  OATS 

the  wild  rain  sweeping  the  toilers  home. 
The  Doctor's  heart  went  out  to  the  poor 
woman,  who  once  had  her  youth  and  her 
dreams. 

"You  have  Edith,"  he  murmured.  "Re 
member  that!" 

An  exquisite  smile  lit  her  face: 

"My  Edith! "  Then  she  sighed. 

"But  a  Mother  thinks  more  of  her  boys." 

"But  Edith,"  the  Doctor  went  on,  "what 
a  wonderful  girl!  You  can  be  proud  of 
her.  Not  many  girls  are  earning  as  much; 
not  many  are  so  sweet  and  beautiful." 

The  woman  breathed  softly. 

"Ach,  Doktor,"  she  said,  "she  helps  me, 
works  hard,  makes  me  money — a  good  girl, 
a  good  girl."  She  went  on  musingly.  "If 
I  could  live  to  see  Edith  married,  I  could 
die  happy,  I  think." 

"You  shall,"  said  the  Doctor  heartily. 

"That  I  don't  know,"  sighed  the  Mother. 
"For  I  must,  must  worry." 

Then,  in  the  silence,  a  door  opened  and 
shut,  and  a  glad  young  voice  cried,  "Moth 
er,  Mother,"  and  at  once  the  music  of  the 
Spring  overflowed  the  room.  It  seemed 


WILD  OATS  29 

good  that  the  wild  rain  should  encircle  the 
warm  human  shelter;  it  made  the  home  all 
the  warmer  and  sweeter.  The  mother 
laughed  softly,  the  Doctor  arose,  and  then 
Edith  glided  in.  She  was  bedraggled, 
dripping  from  head  to  foot,  her  clothes 
tight  on  her  limbs,  her  hair  pasted  down 
her  face.  Tilting  her  hat,  it  spilled  silver 
drops,  and  drops  were  falling  from  her 
chin.  Like  a  wild-rose  in  rain,  sweet 
enough  to  kiss,  thought  the  Doctor. 

She  ran  over  with  laughter: 

"Oh,  the  Doctor!  I  didn't  think  you'd 
be  here.  I'm  simply  sopping  wet.  Such 
weather!" 

"Well!"  cried  the  Doctor.  "No  um 
brella?" 

"Umbrella !  It's  glorious !— But  I'd  bet 
ter  go  in  the  kitchen,  or  I'll  ruin  the 
house!" 

She  vanished;  the  Doctor  looked  at  the 
mother,  and  both  laughed  with  delight. 
He  leaned  over  and  took  her  hand: 

"How  can  you  worry  with  that  in  the 
house?" 

"I  feel  better,"  she  murmured. 


30  WILD  OATS 

"Good,"  he  said  heartily.  "Now,  really, 
you'll  brace  up  and  take  care  of  yourself. 
Good-by.  I'll  come  again  soon — just  a  so 
cial  visit." 

He  groped  through  the  inner  room  into 
the  kitchen.  Edith  was  reaching  up  on  tip 
toe  to  light  the  gas. 

"Here,"  he  said,  taking  the  match.  In 
the  sudden  glow,  the  room  broke  real  and 
vivid  about  them — stove,  and  dining  table, 
cupboard  and  ice  box. 

"How  is  she?"  asked  Edith  anxiously. 

He  took  a  hand,  held  it  close,  and  spoke 
very  near  and  very  low. 

"Edith,  your  Mother  must  keep  very 
quiet — she  mustn't  excite  herself." 

Her  face  lifted,  quivering  with  care. 

"Doctor." 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  think  I'm  a  brave  girl?" 

"I  do,  Edith." 

"Then  tell  me  the  truth.  What  is  the 
matter  with  Mother?" 

He  spoke  very  tenderly. 

"Edith,  your  Mother  has  a  weak  heart." 

The  girl  trembled,  and  grew  pale. 


WILDCATS  31 

"Weak  heart?    You  mean— 

"Yes,"  his  voice  was  almost  inaudible, 
"at  any  moment — unless  she  controls  her 
self."  ' 

"And  then ?" 

"She  may  live  years." 

Her  eyes  were  very  large,  her  cheeks 
white.  She  gasped: 

"My  Mother— die?" 

The  Doctor  whispered: 

"You're  a  brave  girl,  Edith!" 

The  girl  swayed: 

"Oh,  she's  all  I  have;  I  can't  stand  it!" 

Two  tears  ran  down  her  face.    "Doctor!" 

"Hush!"  he  warned,  "if  she  heard !" 

"I  can't  stand  it!"  She  hid  her  face  in 
her  hands.  "I  can't  stand  it!" 

The  Doctor  spoke  in  a  voice  of  intimate 
pity: 

"You  must  take  good  care  of  her,  and 
make  your  brothers  behave.  If  she  lives 
quietly,  it  will  be  years  yet.  Come,  Edith, 
your  Mother  needs  you!" 

He  had  touched  the  right  string.  The 
young  girl  threw  up  her  head,  and  spoke 
with  lovely  courage: 


32  WILD  OATS 

"She  needs  me?  Yes,  I'm  selfish.  But" 
— she  looked  in  the  Doctor's  face — "you 
can  trust  me.  I'll  keep  Mother  alive." 

The  Doctor  pressed  her  hand  hard. 

"I  knew  it,  Edith,  I  knew  it!"  And 
passed  out. 

For  a  moment  she  was  stunned  and 
wrung  her  hands.  It  was  as  if  blackness 
had  entered  her  heart;  she  felt  lonely,  for 
saken.  And  then  her  Mother  called : 

"Come  in  and  change  your  clothes,  Edy." 

And  all  the  terror  changed  to  tenderness. 
So  she  hurried  in,  and  while  her  Mother 
was  buttoning  up  her  waist  and  she  was 
rolling  the  water  out  of  her  long  hair  or 
changing  her  stockings  and  shoes,  she  asked 
a  hundred  loving  questions.  Wasn't  there 
anything  she  could  do?  What  did  her 
Mother  like?  Should  she  get  her  some 
chicken  to-morrow?  Wouldn't  she  like  to 
have  a  servant  to  help  her? 

"Servant?  Are  you  crazy?"  cried  the 
Mother.  "For  thirty  years  I  worked  with 
out  a  servant!  Now  I  should  begin!" 

Edith  turned  about  with  divine  eager 
ness: 


WILD  OATS  33 

"Mother!  Couldn't  I  give  up  my  job 
then,  and  stay  home  and  help  you?  I'd  take 
such  care  of  you,  dear!" 

Her  Mother  ha-ha'd  in  her  face: 

"I  could  put  your  help  under  my  finger 
nail.  Dummer  esel!  (Stupid  donkey.)" 

The  two  brothers  now  came  in,  slamming 
the  door. 

"Well,  Mutter,"  said  the  elder,  a  small 
stout  fellow  with  a  shining  face,  "how  goes 
it?" 

He  rubbed  his  hands  and  grinned. 

"Ach,"  said  the   Mother,  "I'm  a  sick 


woman." 


"Too  much  sausage,  hey?"  said  the  son 
glibly. 

Edith  spoke  in  a  low  voice. 

"Sam,  you'd  better  go  in  the  kitchen  1" 

"Why?" 

She  came  closer: 

"Sam,"  her  voice  took  on  a  command 
new  to  her,  "go  in  the  kitchen!" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  surprise 
and  went.  The  other  son,  Marcus,  who 
had  the  slimness  of  his  sister  without  her 
beauty,  muttered: 


34  WILD  OATS 

"Say,  the  sis  is  getting  pretty  fresh,  ain't 
she?"  And  followed  his  brother. 

Then  Edith  laughed  and  kissed  her 
Mother. 

"Dear,"  she  whispered,  "I'm  going  to 
take  care  of  the  boys  and  make  them  be 
have!  Indeed,  I  will!  And  I'm  going  to 
make  you  just  so  happy!"  She  hugged  the 
Mother  to  show  her  just  how  happy. 

"Ah,"  said  the  Mother,  "you  are  my 
baby,  Edith!" 

And  they  kissed  each  other,  and  Edith 
ran  into  the  kitchen  and  prepared  the  sup 
per,  humming  as  she  worked,  and  now  and 
then  a  tear  stealing  down  her  cheek  and 
angrily  brushed  off  as  she  murmured: 

"I  promised  him  I'd  be  brave." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  FIRST  NIGHT 

IT  was  a  sight  to  watch  Edith  in  the 
kitchen.  She  took  to  the  work  as  any 
healthy-minded  woman  will;  al 
though  she  preferred  fancy  cooking  to 
plain,  and  would  glory  in  five-hours'  toil  on 
fruit-cake  and  be  balked  altogether  at  boil 
ing  eggs.  The  fine  way  she  sliced  bread, 
running  the  knife  rhythmically;  the  de 
lightful  grace  she  showed  as  she  forked  at 
potato-slices  frying  in  the  pan;  the  tender 
ness  she  spent  on  a  tough  hunk  of  boiled 
meat,  abstracted  admiration  even  from  her 
brothers.  They  didn't  let  on,  however; 
merely  howling  their  hunger  and  asking  if 
supper  never  would  be  ready. 

But  at  table  they  ate  like  healthy  animals, 
and  Edith  glowed  with  motherly  pleasure. 
After  their  first  onslaught  had  ended,  she 

35 


36  WILD  OATS 

noticed  that  they  both  were  glancing  at  her 
knowingly.  Finally  Sam  cleared  his  throat. 

"Might  I  inquire,"  he  asked  in  a  pom 
pous  way  he  sometimes  affected,  "if  the  par 
lor  is  in  a  condition  to  receive  a  caller?" 

"Why?"  asked  Edith. 

"Because,  I  suppose,  there  will  be  a 
caller." 

"I  can  fix  it  up,"  said  Edith  simply. 

The  two  brothers  glanced  at  each  other 
and  winked.  Said  Marcus: 

"Ain't  she  the  baby,  Sam?" 

Sam  cleared  his  throat  again: 

"And  what  if  this  caller  is  calling  on  my 
sister,  Edith?" 

Edith  choked  on  some  bread. 

"On  me?"  she  gasped. 

"On  you." 

"Me?"     She  could  not  believe  her  ears. 

"Shall  I  repeat  it?"  asked  Sam.  "I  say, 
what  if  this  young  man  is  calling  on  you?" 

"Young  man?    Goodness!" 

The  young  men  looked  at  each  other  and 
burst  out  laughing. 

"Well,"  cried  Marcus,  smiting  the  table, 
"I'll  be  damned." 


WILD  OATS  37 

"You  know,  Marc,"  said  Sam,  "she  never 
saw  a  young  man  before!" 

Edith  leaned  forward,  her  cheeks  red. 

"If  you're  making  fun  of  me,"  she  cried 

indignantly,  "Sam,  if  this  is  a  joke " 

Then,  looking  on  their  grinning  faces,  she 
rippled  with  laughter,  "Oh,  I'm  such  a 
fool! — Sam,  is  someone  really  going  to  call 
on  me?  Don't  fool  me,  Sam." 

Her  voice  was  so  tenderly  sweet,  that 
Sam,  to  drive  home  the  truth,  had  to  as 
sume  anger. 

"I  told  you  he  was  coming,  and  that's  all 
there  is  to  it.  Call  me  a  liar,  why  don't 
you?" 

"But— surely?" 

"Did  I  say  so  or  not?" 

"A  young  man?" 

"No,"  snorted  Marcus,  "a  young  ele 
phant!" 

"To  see  me?" 

"No,"  Marcus  snorted  again,  "your 
Mother!" 

"But  who  can  want  to  see  me?" 

Sam  ahemed. 


38  WILD  OATS 

"Oh — you  know  and  I  know  and  they 
know 

"I  know!"  cried  Edith,  "it's  that  bald- 
headed  Zug." 

"Zug!"  they  laughed  together,  and  Sam 
added:  "Guess  again!" 

She  had  reached  the  end  of  her  guess 
ing.  Poor  Edith!  Seventeen,  and  a  young 
man's  call  was  an  event  to  send  the  blood  to 
the  cheeks  and  to  set  the  heart  a-thump. 
She  forgot  that  she  was  never  to  be  mar 
ried;  she  forgot  her  questionings;  in  a  mo 
ment  of  amazement  all  the  yearning  and 
mystery  of  the  blue  morning  rushed  upon 
her,  crying:  "Edith,  you  are  woman!"  She 
realized  her  sex  in  a  white  flash,  as  it  were; 
and  all  the  wild  glory  of  her  natural  des 
tiny  rose  like  a  vision  before  her.  Now  she 
knew.  Now  the  yearnings  had  a  meaning. 
Now  Earth  had  a  meaning;  life  had  a 
meaning.  A  man  wanted  to  see  her.  Why? 
Because  she  was  a  woman.  What  a  wild 
wonder  to  be  alive;  what  an  adventure; 
what  a  romance! 

So  terrific  was  this  blaze  of  new  light 
that  all  this  time  she  sat  with  flushed  cheeks 


WILD  OATS  39 

and  shining,  far-seeing  eyes  and  looked  so 
beautiful  that  her  brothers  could  not  ban 
ter  her,  but  marveled  at  the  strange  thing 
that  had  crept  into  the  house.  This  was  not 
Edith,  their  sister.  This  was  someone  new, 
a  stranger.  They  were  surprised,  perhaps 
a  little  annoyed.  It  was  a  very  quiet  min 
ute;  but  sometimes  a  minute  works  great 
changes. 

Suddenly  Edith  leaped  up  and  ran  from 
the  room.  The  brothers  whistled  and  gave 
up  girls  as  a  bad  job.  But  Edith  had  burst 
in  on  her  Mother,  and  sat  on  the  bed  beside 
her. 

"Mother,  what  do  you  think?" 

"Think!    Come  along!" 

"Mother!" 

"Out  with  it!" 

"Oh,  Mother,  you  can't  guess!"  She 
darted  and  kissed  a  sallow  cheek. 

The  Mother  grunted. 

"Mother,"  Edith  burst  out,  "someone  is 
calling  on  me  to-night!" 

"On  you?    Who?" 

"A  man — a  young  man!" 

"A  young  man?"    Now,  was  the  Mother 


40  WILD  OATS 

indeed  amazed.    "Ah,  dear  one,  dear  one!" 
She  laughed  softly.  "So  comes  a  nice  young 


man." 


Edith's  glad  voice  was  full  of  mystery: 

"Who  should  want  to  call  on  me?" 

"Who?    What's  his  name?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Don't  know?"  cried  the  Mother;  "what 
a  fool!  Don't  know  his  name,  and  you  ask 
him  to  call?  Heavens,  what  a  fool!" 

Edith  explained,  and  then  was  all  eager 
ness.  Was  her  hair  right?  Should  she  put 
on  her  blue  dress?  Should  she  change  her 
collar?  Then  was  her  Mother  all  Mother, 
pulsing  with  joy,  patting  at  the  hair,  tying 
a  ribbon,  adjusting  a  collar,  and  totally  for 
getting  her  troubles.  Finally  she  gave  her 
daughter  a  light  kiss  on  the  cheek. 

"Who  gets  you,"  she  murmured  de 
voutly,  "is  a  lucky  man.  I  was  never  so 
beautiful  myself.  I  was  a  good  cook,  and 
no  good-looker.  But  then  your  father, 
selig,  Edith,  was  a  big  eater.  And  you 
know,"  she  added  wisely,  "you  can't  eat 
looks." 

Edith  wasn't  listening.     She  was  sum- 


WILD  OATS  41 

moning  up  male-images,  but  whenever  a 
new  face  appeared,  immediately  Doctor 
Rast's  face  bobbed  through  it.  If  he  was 
like  the  Doctor!  But  who  could  be  like 
the  Doctor?  Who  could  be  so  handsome, 
so  tender,  so  noble,  so  good?  Doctor  Rast 
might  have  answered  her,  being  a  man 
truthful  with  himself,  and  knowing  some 
of  his  own  limitations.  But  Edith  was  a 
young  girl  and  had  ideals.  He  was  one  of 
them. 

So  Edith  wondered,  and  while  she  won 
dered,  she  flung  into  the  parlor  and  gave  it 
the  worst  cleaning-up  it  had  ever  received. 
Pins  and  threads  were  stooped  for;  dust 
was  vanquished;  curtains  straightened;  and 
when  she  was  through  the  cheerful  little 
room  was  trim  and  tidy.  Then  two  lights 
sprang  up  and  flooded  the  place  golden. 
As  Edith  stood,  surveying  her  work,  she 
did  not  know  how  vital  was  her  beauty — 
breathing  there  rich  with  life,  even  as  a 
daisy  is  rich  with  sun  and  moisture  and 
tint  and  form.  She  was  just  beginning  to 
ripen — bud  unfolding  into  flower — the 
white  of  dawn  was  still  on  her— the  care- 


42  WILD  OATS 

less  grace,  the  unstudied  bewitchment,  the 
fresh  sweetness  of  a  pure  young  girl. 

Her  brothers  entered  and  expressed  as 
tonishment  that  a  room  in  their  flat  should 
finally  clean  itself  up;  but  Edith  did  not 
listen  to  them.  And  then  came  the  knock. 

Sam  consulted  his  watch: 

"Eight  to  the  dot!    I  win  my  bet!" 

Marcus  grumbled. 

"Say,  sis,  open!" 

"You  open!"  she  cried,  and  vanished. 

Sam  opened,  and  Edith  heard  low  voices. 
She  felt  almost  frightened;  a  little  stifled. 
Sam  spoke  at  the  door: 

"Someone  for  you,  Eed." 

"For  me?" 

She  followed  him  into  the  golden  flooded 
room.  Frank  Lasser  was  standing  before 
her.  And  swiftly  two  strange  emotions 
clashed  within  her,  and  left  her  standing 
mute.  The  first  was  a  horrible  disappoint 
ment;  this  smart  young  man  was  no  Rast; 
the  second  was  a  throb  of  recognition;  she 
had  seen  him  somewhere.  And  standing 
thus,  mute,  lips  parted,  eyes  drinking  him 
in,  she  did  not  know  her  beauty! 


WILD  OATS  43 

Her  brother  Sam  was  speaking: 
"Edith — this  is  Frank — Frank  Lasser — 
old  friend  of  mine- 
Frank  reached  out  his  hand,  and  she  felt 
it  cool   and   strong  about  hers.      He  was 
speaking,  too;  trying  to  speak  in  his  light 
way,  and  making  a  bad  fizzle  of  it: 

"You  see — Miss  Kroll — we  work  in  the 
same  place." 

"In  the  same  place?    Goldin's?" 
"Yes — you  see—      "  he  paused. 
"Oh!"  she  cried,  and  then  remembered. 
He  and  Zug,  they  were  at  the  window  quar 
reling;  she  had  gone  in  to  quiet  them. 
He  lowered  his  glance. 
"Yes,"  he  muttered,  "Zug  and  I — you  see 
we  were  at  it  a  little— 

"A  little?"  she  echoed,  and  then  silver 
laughter  woke,  the  air  cleared,  Frank  felt 
at  home  at  once,  and  the  brothers  made 
themselves  "scarce" — though  not  without 
inviting  Frank  to  join  them  "with  the 
boys,"  and  expressing  consternation  that  he 
did  not  care  for  their  society  and  telling 
him  to  "ware,  ware  the  ladies,"  until  Edith 
told  them  sharply  to  hurry  up  and  shut  out 


44  WILD  OATS 

the  draught.  They  shut  themselves  out 
with  it. 

The  two  sat  down,  Frank  on  the  sofa, 
Edith  on  a  chair,  and  at  once  Edith  was 
at  her  ease,  and  wondering  why  she  had 
felt  such  strange  pangs.  Wasn't  she  used  to 
men?  She  had  brothers,  and  she  had 
worked  several  years  in  business.  She 
talked  to  strangers  every  day.  And  then 
why  palpitation  because  one  of  them  was  in 
her  home?  She  was  inclined  to  laughter, 
which  made  her  eyes  sparkle  and  her  voice 
melodious: 

"You  must  be  a  new  man." 

"I  am." 

"Salesman?" 

"Pennsylvania." 

"Of  course!"  laughed  Edith,  "I  entered 
it  on  the  books — Frank  Lasser.  How  is  it 
I  didn't  see  you?" 

"Oh,  I  was  just  in  a  moment  to  see  the 
boss — ain't  he  a  terror? — and  then  I  got 
out.  I  really  go  on  to-morrow." 

Edith  wished  he  wouldn't  say  "ain't." 
He  went  on  feebly: 


WILD  OATS  45 

"I  hope  I  didn't  make  it  unpleasant  this 
morning." 

"You  did — a  little,"  she  said. 

He  was  puzzled.  Up  to  the  present  he 
had  been  a  great  "hand"  with  the  ladies; 
his  hard  handsome  face  fascinating  the  fair 
sex.  But  this  girl  was  different;  she  was 
new  and  strange;  naive  and  direct.  There 
was  something  about  her,  not  of  the  face 
or  form,  that  yet  was  shed  by  her  personal 
ity — a  something  that  came  via  the  eyes 
or  the  voice  or  the  gesture — a  something 
penetratingly  sweet  and  pure  and  poignant 
with  mystery.  A  spiritual  quality  new  to 
Frank.  None  of  his  familiar  weapons  was 
available  —  boisterousness,  cynicism,  flat 
tery,  all  were  useless.  And  so  he  felt  as 
if  he  were  weak  as  water,  and  yet  as  if 
some  new  Power  were  groping  into  his 
heart. 

In  the  short  awkward  silence  Edith 
could  not  help  noticing  and  disliking  his 
clothes.  The  young  man  had  his  legs 
crossed  widely,  his  hands  clasped  about  his 
knee — a  favorite  position  of  his,  which  dis- 


46  WILD  OATS 

played  his  light-green  socks  and  patent 
leather  low  shoes.  His  necktie  matched  the 
socks,  and  was  stuck  with  a  ruby-studded 
horseshoe  pin.  His  collar  was  a  "choker"; 
his  shirt  broadly  striped.  Edith  had  a  sud 
den  senseless  desire  to  muss  his  hair;  it  was 
so  plastered  and  shiny.  Altogether  she  be 
gan  to  think  him  very  odd  and  funny,  and 
not  to  be  taken  seriously. 

But  something  had  to  be  done  with  the 
silence,  which  was  deepening,  and  which 
made  Frank  fidget.  Finally  he  burst  out: 

"You  see  I  met  your  brother  Sam — at 
least  I  called  at  his  place — and  he  prom 
ised  to  bring  me  up.  Never  knew  he  had  a 
sister  till  this  morning  and  then  Zug  told 


me." 


As  she  said  nothing,  merely  nodding,  he 
stammered: 

"What  you  think  of  Zug?" 

"Mr.  Zug?  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I've 
never  thought  very  much  about  him.  I'm 
busy  at  the  office." 

Frank  brightened  perceptibly. 

"Say,"    he    began,    "it's    quit    raining. 


WILD  OATS  47 

Would  you  care  to  take  a  walk,  Miss 
Kroll?" 

This  question  was  answered  by  three 
hearty  knocks  on  the  door.  Edith  laughed 
as  she  rose: 

"That's  Mr.  Grupp." 

"Grupp?"  cried  Frank,  "Mo  Grupp, 
salesman  for  Heimedinger's?  Lordy,  I 
know  Mo." 

Edith  opened  the  door,  and  Mr.  Grupp 
entered.  He  was  a  Bavarian  built  like  a 
short  Grenadier,  soldier-straight  and  stout, 
with  ruddy  face  and  big  spongy  nose  and 
weathered  blue  eyes.  He  had  been  a  friend 
of  the  Krolls  the  last  thirty  years — watched 
the  babies  grow  and  the  parents  age — and 
for  the  delight  of  the  human  race  spoke 
as  broken  an  English  as  he  could  command. 

He  at  once  seized  Edith  under  the  chin. 

"Ah,  Sveetie!"  he  cried;  "how's  my 
Sveetie!" 

Frank  was  seized  with  impatience; 
Edith  laughed  and  drew  back. 

"Hello,  Mo,"  said  Frank. 

Mr.  Grupp  wheeled  around. 


48  WILD  OATS 

"Well,  my  old  college  chum!"  They 
shook  hands.  "My  old  college  chum!" 

"What  brings  you  here?"  asked  Frank. 

"Such  a  question!  I  was  here  the  day 
Edy  was  born,  and  you  never  heard  such 
a  yelling  in  your  life.  Have  a  cigar?"  he 
drew  one  from  his  pocket  and  held  it  out, 
"It's  my  last!" 

Frank  refused  laughingly,  much  to  Mr. 
Grupp's  relief.  The  older  man  sat  down 
and  began  puffing  comfortably.  Frank 
looked  at  Edith,  but  Edith  returned  to  her 
chair. 

"Where's  your  Mudder?"  asked  Mr. 
Grupp. 

"She's  not  so  well,"  said  Edith,  "she's 
in  bed." 

"That's  a  fine  way,  when  I  call  on  her! 
Ach,  but  I'm  sick,  too!" 

"Sick?"  echoed  Edith. 

"Yes,  I've  lost  my  appetite.  I  remember 
twenty  years  ago,  on  my  birthday,  your 
Father,  selig,  for  breakfast  said,  'Eat  till 
you  busted,'  und  I  eat  a  big  juicy  steak  and 
twenty-two  hard-boiled  eggs.  Then  I 
could  eat.  But  now?  Oh,  weh!  Oh, 


WILD  OATS  49 

Mamma!  I  have  no  appetite.  I  can  only 
eat  breakfast  in  the  morning,  and  then  a  lit 
tle  yowsa  (bite)  at  ten;  at  noon,  dinner,  at 
four  in  the  afternoon  a  cup  of  Mocha,  then 
supper,  and  at  ten  o'clock  another  yowsa. 
I'm  a  sick  man." 

Edith  laughed,  for  this  was  an  old,  old 
story.  Mr.  Grupp  noticed  how  Frank  was 
fidgeting  and  enjoyed  the  little  comedy 
greatly.  He  deliberately  reached  over 
again  and  seized  Edith's  chin: 

"Well,  my  Sveetie!" 

Edith  pushed  his  hand  away. 

"Don't!"  she  cried. 

"Himmel!  how  nervous  you're  getting. 
Yes,"  he  shook  his  head,  "here  they  call  it 
nervous,  but  in  the  old  country  they  call  it 
verriickt  (crazy)." 

Frank  could  not  contain  himself. 

"Do  you  want  to  walk,  Miss  Kroll?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Edith.  "Would 
you  wait  here,  Mr.  Grupp?  Mother's 
alone." 

"Oh,  ho!"  Mr.  Grupp  winked  his  eye. 
"That's  the  way,  is  it?  Veil,  for  a  con 
sideration " 


50  WILD  OATS 

"No,"  said  Edith,  "no  kisses." 

"Veil,"  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  "I'm 
a  poor  Yank.  So  it  goes!" 

Edith  smiled: 

"Then  I'll  ask  Mother!" 

This  was  so  naive  that  Frank  almost 
laughed.  Edith  ran  into  her  Mother's 
room. 

"Asleep,  dear?"    The  room  was  dark. 

"No,"  came  a  soft  voice  in  the  warm 
darkness. 

Edith  felt  out  and  touched  the  old  arms, 
the  old  face. 

"Mother  dear,"  she  leaned  over  and  put 
cheek  to  cheek,  "Mr.  Grupp  is  here — he'll 
wait — may  I  go  out  for  a  walk  with  Mr. 
Lasser?" 

The  Mother  laughed  softly  and  drew  the 
young  face  closer: 

"Ach,  ya,  run  along!" 

"You're  sure  you  won't  need  me?" 

"Soon  you  won't  ask  no  questions! — Is  he 
a  nice  young  feller?" 

"I  don't  know.    He's  funny." 

"Well,  don't  let  him  get  any  funnier  till 


WILD  OATS  51 

you  know  positif  his  prospects  and  his  sav 
ings  and  his  family." 

"Oh,  Mother!"  cried  Edith,  shocked. 

She  kissed  the  old  face  and  stole  back. 
Mr.  Grupp  was  revealing  his  true  heart  to 
Frank,  who  was  much  bored,  and  kept  say 
ing  flippantly,  "Aw,  cut  it  out!  You  don't 
know  what  you're  talking  about" — much  to 
Edith's  displeasure.  Mr.  Grupp  was  talk 
ing  Socialism;  he  was  describing  the  ter 
rible  lot  of  the  toilers  in  mines  and  steel 
mills,  and  predicting  revolution,  all  with  a 
fiery  passion  that  grew  incoherent. 

"You  will  see,"  he  shouted,  "we  will 
have  such  a  revolution  worse  than  the  po 
groms  of  Russia  and  the  Inquisitive-ition. 
Watch  my  vords." 

"Cut  it,"  cried  Frank,  and  then  saw 
Edith  gazing  at  him. 

Edith  said  in  a  low  voice  that  she  could 
go,  so  they  put  on  coats  and  hats,  and  then 
finally  Mr.  Grupp  buttonholed  Frank  as 
he  was  going  out: 

"Take  my  advice,"  he  said,  "for  I  know 
vomen,  Mr.  Lasser." 


52  WILD  OATS 

"Yes,"  said  Frank  irritably. 

Mr.  Grupp  spoke  dramatically  with 
flourishes  of  the  arm. 

"A  tiger,  Mr.  Lasser,  a  lion,  Mr.  Las- 
ser,  a  rhinoceros,  Mr.  Lasser,  even  a  rattle 
snake,  Mr.  Lasser,  you  can  tame — but  a 
vomen,  never!" 

This  was  one  of  his  pet  formulas,  and 
Edith  laughed.  Mr.  Grupp  continued: 

"If  you  want  to  be  happy — fifty  years 
engaged,  and  one  year  married!" 

Frank,  catching  Edith's  eye  then,  laughed 
too,  and  they  went  out,  groping  their  way 
down  the  dim  stairs  and  into  the  street. 
There  was  something  wild  about  the  night, 
something  sharp  and  vivid.  Tattered 
clouds,  in  the  highest  skies,  were  racing, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  the  edge-broken  moon 
were  tumbling  and  plunging  into  the  fleece 
— shrouded  a  moment,  and  then  spilling 
through  the  thin  silver  fringe,  and  then 
rolling  into  a  glory  of  moonlight.  A  star 
here  and  there  came  and  went.  The  street- 
lamps  sparkled  sharp ;  the  shop-windows 
were  lit;  the  pavement,  still  wet,  was 
daubed  gold  or  silver  by  every  light;  and 


WILD  OATS  53 

people   were   wandering   about,    free   and 
fresh  in  the  cold  blowing  air. 

As  they  walked  along,  Frank,  under 
cover  of  night,  became  voluble,  as  if  in  an 
swer  to  the  Mother's  question.  Twelve  a 
week  and  his  expenses  and  commission;  he 
could  easily  earn  eighteen  to  twenty  a 
week;  a  little  family  could  live  on  that.  He 
knew  her  brothers  and  many  of  the  family 
friends.  He  remembered  her  father  "one 
of  the  best  of  them" — an  easy  spender,  a 
good  fellow.  He  knew  how  to  livel  It's 
an  art  this  generation  hasn't  learned.  Now, 
heavens,  he  knew  fellows  who  didn't  smoke, 
or  play  cards,  or  go  to  the  races,  or  go 
around.  Was  the  world  becoming  wom 
anized?  The  sissies!  Why,  a  fellow  wasn't 
a  man  until  he  had  been  through  it  all! 
Take  this  Zug;  he  was  a  queer  one.  Well, 
he  smoked;  a  fellow  had  to  with  a  cus 
tomer;  and  he  used  to  be  a  regular  devil. 
But  lately,  he's  a  sis.  Stays  home  with  his 
folks  at  night;  never  touches  a  drop;  never 
gambles.  Tame  as  a  dog.  Eat  out  of  your 
hand.  Reformed  all  but  his  temper.  Did 
Edith  favor  that  type  of  man? 


54  WILD  OATS 

But  Edith  was  with  the  racing  moon. 
His  talk  had  been  blowing  about  her  with 
the  noises  of  the  great  night-city — the  roar 
of  the  elevated  train,  the  rattle  of  a  late 
wagon,  the  stir  and  talk  of  people.  Some 
thing  of  the  morning  came  back  to  her, 
something  of  the  romance  that  goes  on  un 
seen  through  all  the  world.  The  wild  skies, 
the  clear-eyed  city,  the  buoyant  air,  the  feel 
of  a  universe  in  action — everything  in 
tensely  alive,  pulsing,  dreaming,  struggling 
— not  a  grain  of  dust  without  its  motion — 
and  she  moving  through  all,  a  part  of  the 
processes,  a  part  of  the  to-and-f  ro,  the  give- 
and-take  of  living  Nature.  Glory  was 
afoot;  adventure  was  at  hand.  Whither 
was  it  all  leading?  What  wild  destiny  was 
whirling  her  through  this  chaos  of  life? 
How  good  to  breathe  the  air,  how  good  to 
feel  the  blood  tingle  from  ankle  to  neck, 
how  good  to  swing  along — give  the  body 
its  way — give  the  mind  to  the  moon,  and 
the  heart  to  the  stirring  people.  She 
wanted  to  speak  of  it;  loose  the  tumult 
within  her;  she  felt  creative,  as  all  young 
people  do;  she  wanted  all  this  glory  to 


WILD  OATS  55 

prompt  her  brain  and  her  hands,  until  she 
shaped  life,  handled  human  beings, 
wrought  in  the  world. 

So,  at  his  question,  she  dropped  from  the 
skies,  as  it  were,  to  his  side,  and  felt  a  sym 
pathy  for  this  living  being  who  shared  the 
night  with  her. 

He  repeated  his  question. 

"Shall  I  tell  you,"  she  said  softly,  "what 
I  like  in  a  man?" 

He  felt  a  thrill  steal  through  him;  all 
the  new  Power  worked  on  him  and  made 
him  weak. 

"Tell  me,"  he  murmured  in  a  new  voice 
— a  voice  lacking  his  habitual  glibness  and 
coarseness. 

"I  like  a  man  to  be  simple  and  sincere — 

just  himself '  she  hesitated,  and  then 

went  on  with  great  courage.  "In  his 
clothes,  too — not  too  flashy — rather  too 
quiet — and  the  same  in  his  manners.  And 
he  ought  to  think  of  others,  and  be  very 
kind  with  stupid  or  weak  people.  I  like 
such  men — and  women,  too." 

The  effect  of  these  plain  words  was  em 
phatic.  It  was  the  new  Power  at  work.  It 


56  WILD  OATS 

was  the  woman-soul  for  the  first  time 
sweeping  over  his.  He  saw  himself  in  a 
new  light,  and  was  acutely  conscious  of  his 
socks,  tie,  pin,  and  shirt.  He  suddenly  felt 
that  Edith  was  at  a  great  distance,  and  that, 
dressed  as  he  was,  and  mannered  as  he  was, 
he  could  not  come  an  inch  closer.  That  a 
woman  should  ever  affect  him  in  this  way 
was  inconceivable.  That  something  pure 
and  sweet  should  begin  to  bubble  like  a 
spring  in  his  heart  was  a  new  experience. 
He  felt  uncomfortable — almost  meek. 

Edith  went  on,  in  a  low  voice: 

"Do  you  know  Doctor  Rast?" 

"Rast?"  he  stammered,  "Dr.  Rast?— Oh, 
I  guess  I've  heard  of  him.  He's  that" — he 
was  going  to  say — "molly  coddle,"  but  de 
sisted. 

"Dr.  Rast,"  said  the  young  idealist 
slowly,  "is  just  what  a  man  should  be.  He 
never  thinks  of  himself ;  he  gives  his  whole 
life  to  help  others;  he  makes  people  glad 
they  are  living.  He's  very  wonderful." 

Frank  was  more  and  more  disturbed. 
Edith  went  on: 

"He  loves  people.     Once  I  heard  him 


WILD  OATS  57 

call  the  poor  down  here  on  the  East  Side, 
'the  beloved  people!' ' 

They  walked  in  silence. 

"He's  so  real,"  said  Edith  fervently. 

Frank  felt  a  jealous  stab. 

"Is  he  married?" 

"Oh,"  laughed  Edith  softly,  "very  much. 
And  he  has  a  boy  three  years  old.  I  kissed 
him  this  morning." 

"The  Doctor?" 

Edith's  silver  laughter  matched  the 
moon. 

"No— the  little  boy." 

They  had  almost  unconsciously  retraced 
their  steps  and  stood  before  the  doorway  of 
the  tenement. 

"May  I  come  up?"  asked  Frank. 

"No,"  said  Edith  simply,  "my  Mother 
isn't  well.  I  must  look  after  her  now." 

Frank  hesitated;  thoughts  and  feelings 
hitherto  unknown  clamored  at  his  lips;  his 
eyes  were  glistening;  he  felt  something 
break  within,  some  hard  crust  about  his 
heart;  he  was  in  a  melting  mood.  It  was 
her  exquisite  face,  the  light  of  blue  eyes  in 
the  light  of  the  moon,  the  quivering  lips, 


58  WILD  OATS 

the  tinted  cheeks,  the  stray  hair;  it  was  the 
night;  it  was  the  glory  of  the  new  Power. 
His  heart  pounded,  he  was  breathless,  some 
thing  shuddered  down  his  back.  He  held 
out  his  hand,  and  when  he  enclosed  hers 
and  felt  the  little  cool  daintiness  in  his 
grasp,  the  moment  grew  musical  and  magic 
for  him. 

He  caught  her  eyes  then,  and  as  she  saw 
the  strangeness  of  his,  the  expression  of  con 
cern  and  longing  and  humility,  the  mother 
in  her  awoke.  Was  he  trying  for  her  sake? 
She  pitied  him,  she  wanted  to  help  him,  she 
looked  at  him  with  a  sweet  sadness.  She 
took  him  into  her  life.  She  even,  for  a 
moment,  liked  his  face. 

At  that  look,  all  crashed  within  him. 
His  eyes  dimmed;  her  sweetness  made  him 
faint;  her  presence  was  a  power  that  swept 
him.  He  had  to  speak. 

"I  want  to  say,"  he  said  brokenly,  hum 
bly,  "I  want  to  say — you've  made  me  feel 
different  on  some  things.  I  never  knew  a 
woman  who — who  made  me  feel  this  way. 
Good-night." 

Her  heart  sang. 


WILD  OATS  59 

"You  must  come  again — soon!"  she  cried. 

And  then  she  was  gone. 

It  was  as  if  he  were  a  baby  again  in  his 
Mother's  arms.  All  the  buried  goodness 
and  tenderness  and  love  emerged  again.  He 
wandered  home  in  a  dream;  he  sought  out 
his  home  in  Henry  Street,  hardly  noticed 
his  mother  and  father  and  their  two  friends 
who  were  playing  pinochle  in  the  dining 
room,  and  went  to  bed.  He  could  not  sleep. 
He  kept  trying  to  see  Edith's  face — but  it 
only  came  in  enchanted  glimpses — a  glance 
of  eyes,  a  quiver  of  lips,  a  tint  of  cheeks. 
More  subtle  and  strong  was  the  power  of 
her  spirit,  sweeping  over  him  like  an  ocean 
of  sunrise,  with  singing  voices  and  silent 
light  and  snatches  of  heavenly  beauty  and 
peace.  He  tried  to  summon  up  remem 
brance  of  the  many  women  he  had  met — 
"peaches"  all.  But  they  somehow  had  lost 
their  good  looks.  They  were  hard,  coarse, 
vulgar.  All  the  new  Power  in  him  re 
pulsed  these  images.  He  could  not  laugh 
at  himself,  he  could  not  be  sufficiently 
amazed.  All  he  knew  was  that  henceforth 
there  was  but  one  real  woman;  and  that 


60  WILD  OATS 

there  was  a  hidden  man  in  him  long  sub 
dued,  but  now  rising  in  strength  and  vital 
ity  and  claiming  possession  of  his  body. 
For  hours  he  lay  awake,  very  still,  very 
quiet,  while  music  came  and  went,  and  vis 
ions  of  the  Unseeable  swept  his  brain,  and 
his  heart  bubbled  like  a  white  dawn.  It 
was  a  night  of  death  and  birth. 

But  Edith  slept  soundly  beside  her 
Mother.  The  Mother  had  asked  her: 

"Well,  is  he  funny  yet?" 

"Sort  of,"  said  Edith  tenderly,  "but  he 
can  be  nice  when  he  wants  to." 

"H'm,"  muttered  the  Mother. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  SECOND  NIGHT 

ONE  reason  why  Frank  had  never 
met  a  good  woman  was  that  since 
he  was  old  enough  to  take  to  the 
streets  he  had  not  met  his  Mother.  She 
was  the  type  of  woman  one  might  call 
a  shadow.  Thin  she  was,  frail,  small,  with 
large  eyes  and  lips  and  fast-fading  hair, 
and  by  dressing  in  black  she  made  herself 
all  the  more  obscure.  Her  husband  was  all 
bluster,  emotion,  impatience  —  March 
weather,  a  short  man  with  a  hawk  nose  and 
blood-shot  eyes.  The  mother  was  negative, 
passive,  unprotesting. 

Wherefore  when  Frank  came  into  the 
dining  room  that  next  morning  and  put  his 
arms  about  her  and  gently  kissed  her,  she 
was  shocked,  and  feared  he  was  ill.  Her 
alarm  increased  as  she  noted  his  appear- 
61 


62  WILD  OATS 

ance.  He  had  on  a  dark  shirt  and  a  black 
tie;  his  collar  was  low;  his  face  pale. 

"What's  the  matter,  Frank?"  she  asked. 

"Nothing,  Mother."     He  smiled  gently. 

"I  thought "  but  shadows  do  not  tell 

their  thoughts. 

Gazing  at  her  with  curious  eyes,  Frank 
felt  he  was  making  a  discovery.  He  began 
to  realize  how  shabby  her  life  was,  lived 
possibly  in  an  area  of  ten  square  city 
blocks.  She  never  went  anywhere;  her  sole 
pleasure  was  cards;  her  life  was  the  com 
mon  lot  of  the  women  of  the  poor — wash 
ing,  scrubbing,  cooking,  sewing,  market 
ing.  Frank  saw  the  pitiful  lines  of  her 
face,  the  large  hungry  eyes,  the  tragic  want. 
It  went  through  him  like  a  needle  of  pain 
that  this  too  was  a  woman  with  all  a  wom 
an's  passions.  Poor  Mother!  Seven  times 
had  she  brought  to  this  world  in  pain  a  hu 
man  child.  Seven  seasons  had  she  had  of 
sickness  unto  death.  Three  times  had  she 
kissed  a  child's  dead  face  and  buried  a 
fragment  of  her  soul  under  Earth.  And 
those  who  had  lived!  Sickness,  poverty, 
constant  worry  and  care,  constant  sewing 


WILD  OATS  63 

and  washing.  And  yet  she  had  said  that 
she  had  not  known  trouble  till  her  sixth 
child  was  born — her  first  boy — Frank. 
Frank  remembered  the  phrase,  and  began 
to  see  something  heroic  in  the  quiet  woman. 
He  made  up  his  mind  to  bring  her  some 
flowers  that  evening.  He  was  the  only 
child  at  home;  the  rest  were  married. 

He  was  also  deferential  to  his  father,  so 
much  so  that  that  gentleman  suspected  a 
plot,  and  began  to  bluster: 

"You  good-for-nothing  loafer,"  he  cried, 
shaking  his  newspaper,  "what  are  you 
after?  If  it's  money,  go  zum  kukuk!" 

Luckily,  enough  of  the  old  Frank  came 
back  to  answer  this: 

"Shut  up,  governor!"  he  snapped. 

And  the  governor  relaxed. 

Frank  kissed  his  mother  good-by  and 
went  out  into  the  brilliant  weather.  The 
wild  fresh  winds  were  loosed  over  the  earth 
like  young  colts;  blobs  of  white  cloud  swam 
over  the  blue;  the  sun  came  and  went,  the 
streets  darkening  into  winter  and  then 
bursting  splendid  into  spring.  The  air  had 
an  electric  quality,  that  charged  the  heart 


64  WILD  OATS 

with  lusty  life.  It  was  a  morning  for  brisk 
walking,  hard  work,  joy  and  good  nature. 
Shadows  slapped  buildings  and  gutter,  and 
vanished. 

Frank  hurried  through  the  familiar 
streets.  There  was  something  glad  and 
good  in  him;  he  had  discovered  his  mother; 
now  he  was  discovering  a  new  world.  He 
was  really  trying  to  see  through  Edith's 
eyes — to  measure  the  world  with  the  new 
man  within  him.  As  truly  as  he  did  not 
know  his  new  self,  he  did  not  know  these 
familiar  people  and  streets.  Life  took  on 
a  new  aspect;  a  new  light  bathed  the  world, 
and  people,  steeped  in  it,  appeared  divine. 
He  had  a  feeling  of  wanting  to  stop  people 
and  shake  them  by  the  hands  and  tell  them : 
"I  know  you  now.  You,  too,  love  and  have 
loved."  Truly  the  world  was  a  deeper  and 
greater  place  than  he  had  dreamed!  There 
was  more  than  the  glittering  surfaces  and 
the  laughter:  there  was  a  touch  of  glory,  a 
vital  meaning,  a  struggle  of  millions  of  des 
tinies.  And  everywhere  sprang  the  vision 
in  shade  and  shine — sweet  Edith. 

Further  than  that  his  thought  could  not 


WILD  OATS  65 

go,  for  he  was  fumbling  with  new  sensa 
tions,  and  could  only  feel  them.  But  he 
was  humble  and  glad  and  sad  and  thought 
ful,  and  he  longed  with  all  his  heart  to  see 
the  young  girl. 

So  thinking,  almost  instinctively  he 
walked  to  Grand  and  Clinton  on  a  chance 
of  meeting  her.  Instead  he  met  Marcus. 
He  had  a  new  feeling  for  Marcus,  because 
he  was  Edith's  brother.  So  he  looked  at 
him  keenly,  and  noticed  his  peaked  and 
drawn  face,  the  look  of  haggard  exhaus 
tion,  the  expression  of  listless  indifference. 

As  they  walked  along  Frank  asked  him 
what  the  trouble  was. 

"Oh,"  said  Marcus  bitterly,  "women." 

"Women,  eh?" 

Marcus  spoke  more  bitterly:  "Why 
don't  they  put  a  fellow  wise?  Here  I  go 
and  get  this  trouble — why,  I  ain't  much  of 
a  sport,  either." 

"Tut,  I've  taken  trouble  from  women 
myself." 

Marcus  evidently  didn't  know  all  the  ins 
and  outs. 

"It's  curable,  ain't  it?" 


66  WILD  OATS 

"Sure  thing!  You  just  go  to  one  of  those 
fellows  who  advertise  in  the  papers.  He'll 
fix  you  in  a  few  weeks." 

"Were  you  cured?" 

"Of  course." 

"Are  you  sure,  though?" 

"Why,  it's  the  simplest  thing  in  the 
world.  Quit  your  worrying.  Every  boy 
gets  it.  He's  not  a  man  till  he's  been 
through  it." 

Marcus  was  very  bitter  about  the  women. 
They  were  the  ruination  of  the  world;  wild 
oats  full  of  rotten  disease;  marriage  not 
only  a  gamble  but  a  hell. 

Said  Frank  soothingly: 

"I  used  to  think  the  same  myself.  I  think 
differently  now.  A  good  woman  is  an  an- 
gel." 

It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  his  change 
of  attitude  was  wrought  overnight. 

And  so  they  walked  along,  and  then 
Marcus  drifted  off  into  the  thronging  peo 
ple  to  such  business  as  the  day  held  for 
him,  and  Frank,  with  eager,  quick  steps, 
climbed  to  the  loft,  passed  through  the 


WILD  OATS  67 

roar  of  machines  and  the  dim  beings  in  the 
twilight  and  entered  the  front  office. 

Zug  was  standing  at  the  shut  window  in 
a  familiar  attitude,  foot  on  the  low  sill, 
hands  in  pockets.  Frank  made  up  his  mind 
to  be  good  to  Zug,  for,  under  the  new  dis 
pensation,  Zug  also  was  a  human  being. 

"Brisk  weather!"  he  said. 

He  fell  into  Zug's  attitude  and  both 
gazed  idly  at  the  busy  street — the  children 
snaking  in  and  out,  the  fat  women  nosing 
about  the  pushcarts,  the  pedlars  with  their 
Babylonian  beards,  all  the  strange  people 
garbed  modernly  and  yet  as  old  as  Israel. 
It  was  a  bright,  living  sight — dabs  of  red, 
blue,  black — a  mix  and  shuffle  of  faces  and 
forms — each  body  standing  out  distinctly  as 
it  threaded  among  the  others.  Cars  clanged 
by,  wagons  hurried. 

"Yes,"  said  Zug,  "a  snappy  morning!" 

He  did  not  look  at  Frank. 

Then  came  a  light  tread  and  both  turned. 
There  she  was,  j.ust  as  we  saw  her  yester 
day.  Blue  hat,  black  feather;  graceful 
girlish  form,  lines  that  rippled;  wildrose 


68  WILD  OATS 

face.  The  light  of  the  morning  had  risen ; 
penetrated  the  clothing  loft,  and  shone 
there  like  love.  She  smiled  sweetly  at  both. 
Both  murmured  some  nothingness.  She 
passed  into  the  other  office.  Only  sunset  re 
mained — the  empty  glowing  shell  of  day. 
They  heard  the  little  clatter  as  she  uncov 
ered  the  typewriter  and  set  to  work  clean 
ing  it.  They  loved  the  busy  toil  of  her 
ringers.  They  imagined  her  face,  bending 
low,  absorbed. 

"Jonas,"  said  Frank,  low,  "come  to  lunch 
with  me  to-day." 

Jonas  muttered  his  willingness. 

They  went  that  noon  to  Fleischer's  Bak 
ery,  in  narrow  Division  Street,  in  darkness 
under  the  elevated  road.  When  the  door 
opens,  and  it  does  often  (so  many  go  to 
Fleischer's),  the  passing  train  drowns  out 
speech.  But  Fleischer's  was  the  place! 
There  you  could  get  eggs — sunny  side  up, 
browned-on-both,  omelet,  jelly  or  plain, 
scrambled,  boiled, — and  cakes!  Cakes! 
Rings,  eclairs,  puffs,  apple  or  cheese.  And 
the  waitresses,  Jewish-fashion,  show  that 


WILD  OATS  69 

they  are  not  menials  and  inferiors,  but 
speak  to  you  familiarly,  and  quarrel  with 
you  as  if  you  belonged  to  the  family. 
There  never  was  an  inferior  Jew.  Even  if 
he  is  a  pedlar  he  will  discuss  the  weather 
or  the  cost  of  living  or  the  Talmud  as  if  he 
were  an  elder  brothe.r.  To  be  a  Jew  is  to 
belong  to  the  oldest  aristocracy  of  earth. 

Students  here  sipped  their  coffee  and 
talked  Socialism,  or  Kant  and  Hegel,  or 
Music  or  Literature,  or  the  latest  perform 
ance  at  the  Yiddish  theatre.  Business  men 
traded.  Working  girls  gossiped  of  bosses, 
and  she  says,  and  he  says,  and  do  you  know 
him,  and  what  do  you  think. 

Frank  and  Jonas  had  a  little  marble  table 
to  themselves,  and  spoke  as  best  they  could 
in  the  uproar. 

Said  Jonas: 

"I  saw  you  with  Marc  this  morning." 

"Well?" 

"You  know  him  pretty  well,  eh?" 

"Known  him  years." 

"Intimate?" 

"Enough  to  call  on  him." 


70  WILD  OATS 

"Call?    You  ever  call  there?" 

"Only  last  night!"  Frank,  in  spite  of 
himself,  could  not  forbear  a  smile. 

Jonas  spoke  jealously: 

"You  said  yesterday  you  didn't  know 
Miss  Kroll." 

"No  more  I  did.  I  know  her  now, 
though!" 

Frank  saw  the  vein  on  Jonas'  forehead 
swell  out,  and  as  Jonas  leaned  toward  him, 
and  said  in  a  low  voice: 

"Lasser,  I  want  to  say  something  to  you," 
he  felt  again  that  electric  atmosphere  as  of 
two  souls  grappling  in  death  struggle.  He 
was  not  in  a  mood  for  trifling,  and  some 
thing  dark  issued  up  from  his  heart  and  his 
blood  swiftened. 

"Go  ahead,"  he  muttered,  "but  cut  it 
short." 

Zug  leaned  nearer,  and  his  voice  came 
low: 

"Lasser,  what's  your  game  with  this 
girl?" 

"What's  yours?" 

"Lasser,"  Zug  broke  out,  still  keeping  his 
voice  private,  "I  know  you.  I  know  what 


WILD  OATS  71 

women  mean  to  you.    I'm  not  going  to  have 
her  made  unhappy." 

The  darkness  in  Frank  deepened  into 
blackness.  He  felt  demons  within  him,  a 
rage  never  before  felt. 

"Who  gave  you  charge  of  her?"  he  mut 
tered. 

"Who?"  Zug's  voice  came  as  if  he  were 
smothering  or  strangling,  "I — I  love  her— 
I  want  to  marry  her — I — I  love  Edith!" 

Frank  at  that  moment  did  not  sense  the 
tragedy  of  Zug's  life;  he  only  felt  out 
raged  and  blind  devilish  anger.  He  spoke 
very  quietly: 

"I  ain't  a  baby,  Zug,  and  if  ever  you  talk 
to  me  this  way  again,  I'll  knock  you  down!" 

Zug  leaned  still  nearer. 

"Be  careful,  Lasser.  I  swear  I'll  watch 
and  protect  her,  and  trip  you  up!" 

Frank  arose,  and  spoke  hotly: 

"I'll  pay  for  you  as  I  go  out" 

Zug  rose: 

"No  you  won't.  I'll  not  take  anything 
from  you,  Lasser!" 

They  elbowed  each  other  at  the  cashier's 
desk  and  each  paid  for  his  own  lunch. 


72  WILD  OATS 

Then  they  went  out  and  separated.  Zug 
returned  to  the  office.  He  found  Edith 
washing  her  hands  in  the  little  white  basin. 
She  looked  very  pretty,  her  sleeves  up,  and 
she  nodded  to  him  laughingly. 

He  paused  beside  her  and  tried  to  com 
mand  himself.  He  was  going  to  do  her  a 
service.  She  should  come  under  his  wing, 
Edith,  the  innocent.  As  he  struggled  with 
himself  a  beam  of  sunlight  smote  through 
the  window,  making  the  water  flash,  and 
lighting  Edith's  face  as  she  looked  at  him. 

He  wanted  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and 
kiss  her  vivid  face.  Then  he  spoke: 

"What  do  you  think  of  our  new  sales 
man?" 

"Mr.  Lasser?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh,"  she  said  lightly,  "I  guess  he's  all 
right." 

Zug  burst  out  strangely: 

"No,  he  isn't  all  right.  He's  led  a  fast 
life.  I'd  almost  call  him  a  dissipated  fel 
low.  He's  not  the  sort  you  ought  to  know." 

"No?" 

He  had  reckoned  without  the  woman  in 


WILD  OATS  73 

Edith.  Glancing  up,  he  saw  that  she  was 
offended.  She  dried  her  hands  slowly,  and 
spoke  evenly: 

"You  must  never  talk  that  way  again, 
Mr.  Zug.  I  don't  like  it!" 

She  went  out.  How  could  he  know  that 
she  whom  he  wanted  to  take  under  his  wing 
was  taking  Frank  under  her  wing?  That 
all  the  creative,  the  mother  in  her  had 
risen,  and  she  was  filled  with  a  passion  for 
making  a  man  out  of  him.  Zug  could  not 
work  that  afternoon;  he  walked  miles 
through  the  city,  even  up  to  Central  Park, 
torn  with  jealousy,  despair,  and  love,  and 
struggling  with  his  doom.  He  felt  the 
coming  of  a  great  tragedy.  He  felt  that 
Edith,  unknown  to  herself,  had  swung  out 
on  the  perilous  seas  of  life,  and  that  her 
pilot  would  steer  her  on  the  rocks.  When 
he  thought  of  her  pure  girlhood,  her  fresh 
beauty,  her  spiritual  strength,  and  fore 
saw  the  change  that  might  come — the 
change  to  disaster,  the  blighting  of  the  bud, 
the  dry-rot  of  the  years,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  would  go  insane.  Who  could  pro 
tect  her?  She  was  enfolded  in  ignorance 


74  WILD  OATS 

and  carelessness — the  stupid  old  mother, 
the  flippant  brothers.  Where  was  there 
help?  Her  own  innocence  was  now  her 
worst  enemy.  Vile  system  of  education  that 
allows  boys  to  get  their  knowledge  of  sex 
on  the  street  and  then  turns  them  loose  on 
girls  who  know  nothing,  girls  who  are  care 
fully  shielded  from  the  very  facts  that  con 
cern  them  deepest!  What  more  near  to  a 
girl  than  motherhood?  And  here  was 
Edith,  just  made  to  be  a  wife,  a  mother, 
even  created  for  love  and  joy  of  husband 
and  laughing  children,  and  she  knew  so 
little.  She  could  be  led  by  a  Lasser,  and 
God  knows  the  Lassers  of  this  world  have 
wrecked  many  sweet  possibilities. 

Full  of  this  storm  was  Zug,  poor  honest 
fellow!  He  was  nearly  thirty;  he  had  not 
been  an  angel ;  but  there  was  in  him  some 
thing  solid  and  sound — a  right  worthy  man 
—a  man  who  would  have  served  Edith  like 
a  faithful  dog,  showered  her  with  "atten 
tions,"  foreseen  her  least  wishes,  shielded 
her  from  pain,  smoothed  out  life's  wrin 
kles,  blunted  the  blows  of  tragedy.  All  this 


WILD  OATS  75 

he  had  done  for  her,  and  given  her,  too, 
passionately  strong  children. 

So  he  went  his  way,  raving;  as  many 
others  at  this  moment  go  their  way  raving; 
this  being  a  strange  world.  The  whole 
heart  wishes  something;  the  passion  that 
fills  it  we  connect  with  God;  it  seems  in 
evitable;  for  this  we  were  born.  But  never 
in  our  lives  shall  we  have  it.  Another 
comes  and  takes  it  easily.  And  if  such  is 
our  nature,  we  rave.  If  we  could  wing  in 
an  aeroplane  above  the  city,  and  the  roofs 
were  removed,  and  through  some  new  tele 
scope  we  could  see  simultaneously  the  lives 
of  four  million  people,  the  sight  would 
be  branded  on  the  brain  as  with  white  fire. 
Women  shrieking  with  childbirth,  death- 
rattle  of  babe  or  man,  deserted  wives,  sui 
cides,  crime,  lust,  ruin,  a  host  that  rave. 
And  yet  walk  the  streets — how  common  are 
these  people!  How  curious  or  happy  or 
listless!  A  stolid  crowd!  The  men  in  the 
cars  read  their  papers,  the  people  in  sky 
scrapers  talk  business,  the  restaurants  are 
filled  with  chatter  and  laughter,  the  thea 
ters  roar  with  applause. 


76  WILD  OATS 

'And  so  Zug,  whose  imagination  was  not 
social,  walked  through  a  city  of  souls,  who 
all  about  him  wept,  shrieked,  laughed, 
toiled,  raved,  and  he  knew  it  not.  Out  of 
four  millions  three  were  vivid  and  real- 
Edith,  Lasser,  himself.  And  so  he  went  his 
way. 

Edith  and  Frank  went  their  way. 

Edith  was  putting  on  coat  and  hat  under 
the  electric  bulb  at  six,  when  Frank  asked 
if  he  could  accompany  her.  She  smilingly 
assenting,  they  went  out  together.  Her 
blood  was  up;  her  heart  and  mind  roused. 
She  knew  already  her  power  over  this  man, 
and  was  too  much  of  a  woman  and  too  ig 
norant  not  to  use  it.  It  was  an  experiment 
in  motherhood.  So  she  saw  no  harm  in 
having  him  at  her  side,  and  she  made  up 
her  mind  to  give  him  much  good  advice 
and  plenty  of  ideals.  Withal  she  was  so 
much  herself,  or  possibly,  so  full  of  more 
than  herself  (heaven  and  earth  is  in  all 
youth!)  that  Frank  noticed  no  change. 

The  skies  had  cleared,  and  were  begin 
ning  to  fill  with  stars;  the  wind  had  died, 
the  air  warmed.  Again  Spring  leapt  on 


WILD  OATS  >7 

the  earth,  dancing  over  sea,  and  city  and 
prairie,  scattering  blossoms  and  babies,  and 
hope  and  youth  and  love.  The  city 
throbbed  all  about  them;  windows  shone 
golden  with  hint  of  supper  and  gathered 
families ;  the  day's  work  was  ended.  Even 
ing  had  come  with  peace  and  joy  and  con 
tentment.  Frank  had  so  much  to  say  that 
he  said  nothing.  He  wanted  to  tell  her  of 
his  long  sleepless  night.  But  her  presence 
at  his  side,  the  touch  of  her  elbow,  the 
swing  of  her  skirt,  the  faint  glimpses  of  her 
face,  flung  a  wild  enchantment  over  him. 
And  she,  too,  at  the  first  new  breath  of 
Spring,  was  swept  by  strange  passions.  Not 
as  yesterday — vague  yearning,  vague  desire, 
the  sadness  and  longing  for  something  than 
all  things  wilder,  sweeter.  She  felt  sex. 
She  felt  that  she  was  a  woman,  and  he  a 
man.  She  felt  that  she  was  being  wooed — 
the  old,  old  romance,  the  magic  pursuit,  the 
witchery  of  the  hunt.  Beautiful  it  was,  and 
sad  as  moon-stirred  seas,  filling  the  eyes 
with  tears,  shaking  the  sweet  flesh  with 
tremors,  waking  the  brain  to  the  music  of 
the  earth  and  the  heavens. 


78  WILD  OATS 

So  neither  spoke,  but  at  the  doorway: 
"It  will  be  such  a  good  night  to-night  for 
a  walk,"  said  Frank. 

"All  right;  then  come  at  eight!" 
He  came.  Edith  laughed  at  his  side. 
The  warmth  of  the  night  had  drawn  people 
out  of  doors,  as  the  sun's  heat  unfolds  buds. 
The  streets  flowered  with  human  beings. 
Boys  and  girls  played  across  the  gutter; 
women  sat  out  on  stoops  with  their  babies; 
organ-grinders  were  abroad  with  shouted 
song;  the  soda-water  stands  at  corners  were 
being  tapped  of  green  and  scarlet  liquids, 
weird  to  eye  and  tongue;  and  the  lovers 
wove  their  way  like  melodies  through  the 
air.  Oh,  air,  languishing,  caressing,  per 
fect!  Oh,  scene,  human,  warm,  divine! 
Oh,  night  with  yonder  still,  still  moon, 
nearly  full  .  .  .  Silver  is  on  the  pulsing 
city;  towers  loom  black;  ferries  glisten  red 
and  green  and  gold  on  the  swimming  tides. 
On  such  a  night! 

Edith  was  laughing. 
"Marc  was  going  out,  but  I  told  him  to 
stay  till  I  got  back.     He  didn't  want  to,  so 
I  made  him!" 


WILD  OATS  79 

Frank  laughed. 

"Where  shall  we  go?  Do  you  ever  go  to 
the  Nickel  Theater?" 

"Yes,  and  I  love  to.  But  first  we  must 
go  to  Dr.  Rast.  I  have  to  report  Mother's 
case!" 

Dr.  Rast!  So  he  would  see  the  Ideal. 
His  blood  quickened. 

"Is  your  Mother  very  ill?" 

Sad  was  Edith: 

"Yes — very — she  has  a  weak  heart — you 
know  what  that  means." 

Frank  said  nothing;  Edith  went  on 
tragically: 

"Really,  if  anything  happened  to  Moth 
er- 
Frank's  heart  went  out  in  pity: 

"Why  should  anything  happen?" 

"She  gets  excited — and  she  mustn't — 
anything  like  that  might  kill  her!" 

Frank  found  nothing  further  to  say,  and 
then,  queer  thing,  strive  as  she  would, 
Edith  could  keep  neither  fear  nor  grief  in 
her  heart.  They  sprang  from  her  breast 
like  birds  and  disappeared  in  yonder  moon. 
Magic  poured  into  her;  she  laughed  over 


80  WILD  OATS 

trifles;  she  felt  elate,  free,  gay.  Wings 
sprouted  on  her  shoulder-blades  and  lifted 
her  lightly  along.  On  such  a  night!  Frank 
was  enchanted  with  her;  all  the  spiritual 
strength  of  hers  was  now  touched  with  airy 
poetry,  winding  him  with  light  ecstasy. 

She  would  stop  to  look  at  a  baby,  or 
clutch  a  dirty  little  urchin,  or  mark  the 
progress  of  the  moon  judged  by  the  house 
tops,  or  point  out  a  drift  of  chimney  smoke 
thinning  into  silver;  and  so  they  tripped 
along,  or  winged  along,  neither  now  being 
near  the  earth,  darted  across  the  Play 
ground  Park,  that  lay  bare  and  black-shad 
owed  in  the  moonlight  and  came  to  Dr. 
Rast's  office.  The  hall-door  was  open,  so 
they  went  in  and  knocked. 

The  Doctor  flung  open  the  door. 

"Edith?" 

"Yes,"  she  laughed,  "and  this,"  Frank 
emerged  from  darkness,  "is  Mr.  Lasser." 

"Glad  to  know  you!"  he  shook  hands 
with  Frank.  "Come  in!" 

They  entered  the  cozy  glowing  office, 
with  its  flat  top  desk  in  center,  its  cur 
tains,  its  shining  instrument  case.  Nell  was 


WILD  OATS  81 

sitting  on  the  rocker,  at  her  everlasting 
sewing.  The  windows  were  open;  the 
street-noise  entered;  but  the  hush  and  sanc 
tity  of  home  were  in  the  room — an  atmos 
phere  steeped  with  love  and  content  and 
labor  done  and  done  well.  The  tears  came 
to  Edith's  eyes.  Just  such  a  home  did  she 
want!  But  with  whom?  She  glanced  curi 
ously  at  Frank. 

He  was  studying  the  Doctor;  his  hand 
some  face,  throbbing  with  life,  was  intent 
on  the  Ideal.  So  this  was  it — big,  dark, 
smooth-faced,  simple.  Edith  understood 
his  studious  look.  She  thrilled  to  think  that 
he  was  studying  a  model. 

All  of  which  was  in  the  flash  of  a  mo 
ment.  Nell  rose  and  greeted  Edith  with 
a  kiss,  and  met  Frank  with  extended  hand. 
The  Doctor  puffed  hard  at  his  pipe.  Nell 
put  an  arm  about  Edith. 

"Morris,"  she  cried,  "did  you  ever  see  a 
girl  so  radiantly  happy?" 

The  Doctor  looked  from  Edith  to  Frank, 
and  from  Frank  to  Edith.  He  didn't  much 
favor  Frank.  But  he  laughed  heartily. 

"What's  up,  Edith?" 


82  WILD  OATS 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing  at  all?"  asked  the  Doctor. 

"Nothing." 

Whereupon  all  four  laughed  as  if  that 
were  a  hugh  joke. 

"I  guess  it's  the  weather,"  said  Nell. 

"H'm,"  said  the  Doctor,  "H'm!" 

Edith  explained  then  that  her  mother 
had  had  a  bad  day,  and  would  the  Doctor 
look  in  to-morrow?  He  said  he  would. 

Edith  dismissed  the  subject: 

"Where's  the  baby?" 

"Davy?"  growled  the  Doctor.  "Don't 
you  call  him  a  baby."  He  imitated  his  son. 
"He's  a  big  boy!" 

"Want  to  see  him?"  asked  Nell.  "Fast 
asleep!" 

They  started  arms  round  each  other. 

"May  I  come,  too?"  asked  Frank. 

"Surely,"  cried  the  Doctor.     "I,  too." 

They  all  went  on  tiptoe  in  the  dark  bed 
room,  and  the  Doctor  lit  the  gas,  turning  it 
dim.  Softly  they  peered  into  the  crib,  and 
saw  that  perfect  miracle — the  head  side 
ways,  red  lips  parted,  cheek  rosy,  lids  to 
gether,  tuft  of  hair  on  the  pillow,  and  one 


WILD  OATS  83 

little  hand  lying  on  the  coverlet.  A  living 
child,  but  snatched  to  the  far  world  of 
sleep.  Breathing,  but  a  blank.  Heart  beat 
ing,  but  all  the  vision  of  this  earth  shut 
away. 

"Beautiful,"  murmured  Edith. 

She  turned  to  Frank. 

"Don't  you  love  little  children?"  she 
whispered. 

Never  had  he  loved  them,  but  a  terrific 
pang  went  through  him.  Now  he  loved 
them. 

"I  do— I  do,"  he  breathed. 

Softly  they  went  out.  The  ties  between 
Edith  and  Frank  were  thickening.  Those 
last  few  words  had  stirred  both  to  the  soul. 
How  could  he  help  thinking  of  their  chil 
dren?  How  could  she  help  thinging  of  her 
children?  And  the  father?  The  Doctor 
and  Nell  said  little  to  these  entranced  vis 
itors.  There  was  little  to  say.  What  would 
you  say  to  an  angel  that  suddenly  flew  in 
at  the  window?  So  the  Doctor  shut  them 
out  into  a  moonlight  night,  and  Nell  and  he 
looked  at  each  other  with  glistening  eyes. 

"Her   time    has    come,"   whispered    the 


84  WILD  OATS 

Doctor.  The  bud  begins  to  open.  Spring 
time — girlhood!  Oh,  the  mystery!" 

"But  do  you  like  him?"  asked  Nell. 

"I'm  not  going  to  marry  him,"  said  the 
Doctor. 

Into  the  moonlight  stepped  our  pretty 
pair.  Or  rather  winged  again.  And  thus 
found  themselves  in  the  Playground  Park. 

"Shall  we  sit  a  little?"  asked  he. 

"Yes,"  laughed  she. 

They  sat  down  on  a  bench ;  behind  them 
green  was  tipping  the  branches  of  a  bush; 
the  earth  smelt  damp  and  new;  and  above 
them,  stars,  stars,  stars  .  .  .  and  the 
moon.  .  .  . 

"Just  look!"  said  Edith. 

He  looked;  she  looked — everywhere 
stars,  dimmed  about  the  solemn  glory  of 
the  moon. 

"What  are  they,  I  wonder,"  whispered 
she,  "so  far  from  us?" 

"They  say,"  he  murmured,  "many  of 
them  are  worlds  bigger  than  this  world  and 
people  live  on  them.  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  isn't  the  world  big,"  said  she. 


WILD  OATS  85 

"We  down  here,"  laughed  Frank,  "are 
nothing." 

"But  we  see  it  all!" 

They  were  silent. 

"And  isn't  it  beautiful!"  breathed  Edith. 
"Did  you  ever  know  how  beautiful  it  was 
before!" 

"No,"  he  whispered,  "never." 

"Everything  seems  alive,"  sKe  whispered, 
"the  earth  ...  the  air  ...  the 
moon  ...  the  stars  ...  we  ..." 

On  such  a  night!  Oh,  moon,  that  shinest 
on  these  young  souls!  Oh,  air,  fragrant 
with  earth,  caressing,  languishing!  Oh, 
world  so  fearfully  wrought,  so  marvelous 
and  magical!  Oh,  we  living  beings  that 
breathe  this  air,  that  see  yonder  moon  and 
stars,  that  feel  this  night!  Why  should  we 
not  give  up  our  hearts  to  these  strange  ec 
stasies,  these  wild  enchantments?  Is  not 
life  common  enough,  sordid  enough- 
Why  not  one  night  of  magic  and  glamour? 

The  two  trembled  close  together;  his  face 
was  softened  with  unselfish  love ;  the  night 
and  Edith  had  conquered  him.  His  face 


86 

was  almost  beautiful  with  man-beauty.  He 
leaned  and  whispered  near. 

"Listen!" 

He  half-turned  toward  her,  and  their 
eves  met. 

<J 

"I  want  to  tell  you,"  he  whispered,  and 
his  heart  poured  mellow  with  the  words, 
"you've  changed  me;  made  a  man  of  me.  I 
never  knew  there  was  such  a  woman!" 

She  was  looking  into  his  eyes.  Her  face 
was  perfect  with  its  sadness,  its  ecstasy,  its 
flash  and  tint  and  shadow  and  fire.  And 
then,  as  she  saw  his  changed  face  and  heard 
the  wonderful  words,  suddenly  a  bolt  of 
electric  lightning  shot  her  heart,  sprang 
through  her  eyes,  smote  through  his,  con 
sumed  him  head  to  foot.  Both  were  weak 
ened;  trembled;  could  not  look  away. 

He  murmured: 

"Edith." 

She  sighed. 

"Edith." 

Then  her  eyes  fell. 

"No,"  she  murmured. 

But  the  thing  had  happened.  For  life 
and  death,  Edith,  you  are  his,  he  is  yours. 


WILD  OATS  87 

Nature  has  spoken  through  you  both,  and 
Nature  is  stronger  than  either  of  you.  He 
is  what  he  is,  O  Seventeen,  but  whatever  he 
is,  he  is  yours.  Marriages  are  not  arranged 
by  mortals — at  least,  not  the  real  ones. 

Surely  there  are  many  powers  in  this 
world.  Have  we  not  given  some  of  them 
names?  Electricity,  heat,  light,  steam, 
gravitation.  But  there  are  many  other 
Powers,  Powers  unclassified,  bunched  un 
der  just  one  name — God.  It  is  when  these 
Powers  are  at  work  that  we  little  human 
beings  are  used  by  mighty  hands. 

Remember  Edith's  age.  She  was  just 
ripening;  she  was  just  awake  to  sex;  she 
was  ready.  The  moment  came.  Frank 
happened  to  be  beside  her.  Nature  flung 
the  bolt  through  her  and  him. 

She  was  looking  down.  There  was  a  long 
and  sacred  silence.  For  in  the  first  glow, 
contact  is  a  sacrilege,  and  words  are  useless. 
Frank's  better  nature  was  uppermost.  He 
would  have  died  for  her  at  the  moment. 
He  was  breathless;  he  could  not  see.  He 
knew,  and  she  knew.  That  was  enough. 
Not  yet,  O  Human  Marriage!  And  yet 


88  WILD  OATS 

could  they  ever  be  more  married  than  at 
that  first  flash? 

She  murmured  in  a  queer,  tremulous 
voice: 

"Take  me  home.  ...  I  want  to  go 
home." 

He  conducted  her  silently.  They  saw 
no  people,  though  this  happens  to  be  an  in 
habited  city;  they  saw  no  houses;  they  saw 
no  moon  nor  lamps.  iVoices  they  heard, 
pouring  an  ecstatic  music;  spheres  of  fire 
winged  about  them.  They  were  not  in 
Time  and  Space;  they  were  in  .  .  . 
Love. 

For  many  hours,  before  sleeping,  they 
heard  that  music,  saw  that  fire. 

We  may  not  tell  of  it.  But  we  know. 
We,  too,  were  young. 


CHAPTER  V 

SPRING    MUSIC 

WHO  shall  yet  come  to  our  earth  and 
sing  to  us  of  love?     Many  have 
tried:     Sappho  and  Shakespeare 
and  Dante  and  Tennyson.     Tut!  our  own 
hearts  sing  better.    Yet  let  a  hint  be  given 
here  and  there,  to  recall  our  hearts  to  the 
sacred  theme. 

Eighty  wonderful  days  passed  over  the 
earth,  though  you  and  I  knew  it  not.  While 
we  were  grubbing  downtown  and  eating 
and  sleeping  uptown,  Edith  and  Frank 
were  in  the  Enchanted  Gardens.  En 
chanted  Gardens,  by  the  way,  are  every 
where.  On  mountain  tops  and  in  mid-seas, 
in  the  Bermudas  or  in  the  Rockies,  deso 
late  coasts  or  democratic  prairies.  So,  too, 
are  the  Enchanted  Gardens  in  the  slums  of 
the  city.  For,  after  all,  they  exist  ^ot  in 


90  WILD  OATS 

stone  and  water  and  soil  and  vegetation; 
their  dwelling  is  the  human  soul. 

Edith  sits  at  her  typewriter,  some  one 
enters,  and  at  once  there  is  music  in  the  air; 
or  the  two  walk  home  together  talking  in 
timately;  or  they  sit  in  the  golden-flooded 
parlor,  the  mother  darning  stockings  and 
telling  them  her  troubles;  or  they  wander 
among  the  people  on  a  perfect  night;  or 
Frank  is  away  in  his  Pennsylvania  with 
daily  interchange  of  letters  -  -  prosaic 
enough  to  the  outsider,  pure  poetry  to  two 
of  us. 

And  yet,  all  this  time,  not  one  word  of 
love.  Such  things  can  be!  How  many 
times  our  young  man  wants  to  speak  out; 
how  many  times  our  young  woman  wants 
to  listen.  He  does  not  speak,  she  does  not 
hear.  Why?  There  are  a  hundred  rea 
sons,  light  as  air.  He  wants  to  make  good 
at  his  new  job;  she  has  qualms  about  her 
mother.  Marriage  must  wait.  And  why 
hurry?  Is  it  not  enough  just  to  be — to 
know  and  see  and  meet  and  part,  while  the 
days  drift  by,  and  earth  is  full  of  dream 
and  witchery?  No,  in  this  first  sacred  pas- 


WILD  OATS  91 

sion,  no  contact  is  needed,  no  kiss,  no  word 
of  love.  The  golden  air  that  wraps  them  is 
enough. 

And  all  the  while  Love  is  ripening  the 
girl.  She  is  fast  becoming  a  woman;  she 
sees  the  world  now  as  an  assemblage  of 
children.  She,  the  Mother,  has  come  to  it. 
Grave  is  the  responsibility,  sweet  the  bur 
den.  There  are  visions  of  home  and  little 
ones  and  the  husband  coming  from  work 
at  night.  Fast  is  she  becoming  a  woman. 
Every  one  notes  it.  The  new  dignity,  the 
sweet  seriousness  of  eyes,  the  troubled  air, 
the  grace  of  carriage.  Even  her  form  re 
sponds,  and  seems  to  bloom,  with  greater 
richness  and  roundness.  Her  clothes,  too, 
cease  to  be  girlish.  Her  own  mother  doesn't 
know  her,  she  changes  so  day  to  day.  Her 
brothers  cease  to  talk  down  to  her,  and  are 
forced  to  respect  her.  She  is  more  tender 
about  the  house;  she  helps  thoughtfully;  she 
sympathizes.  And  yet,  at  a  moment's  no 
tice,  off  she  flings  her  new  mantle  of  wom 
anhood,  and  is  a  radiant  ecstasy,  a  whirl  of 
music  and  laughter,  a  wildness  of  enchant 
ment.  Those  are  moments  when  she  breaks 


92  WILD  OATS 

open  the  kissed  letter  in  secret,  or  hears 
some  one's  knock  at  the  door,  or  casually 
meets  some  one  in  the  street. 

And  we  cannot  help  admiring  Frank. 
Cynicism,  flippancy,  indecency  are  buried 
with  the  wild  oats.  He  has  become  a  seri 
ous-mannered  man.  He  thinks  deeply 
these  days.  He  goes  on  with  his  discovery 
of  the  world,  and  his  heartstrings  pulse  to 
the  life  about  him.  His  mother's  cheeks 
begin  to  glow;  she  ceases  to  be  a  shadow. 
Frank  is  the  most  wonderful  son  in  the 
world.  How  thoughtful!  Yesterday  he 
brought  me  a  belt-buckle  from  Pittsburgh! 
He  never  forgets  his  mother!  Everywhere 
one  is  with  him,  hovering  over  him,  chang 
ing  him,  transforming  him.  More  and 
more  deep  the  brute  is  buried;  more  and 
more  powerful  grows  the  man.  He  does 
not  spend  on  himself,  but  saves.  His  bank 
account  shows  the  new  Power.  He  is  plan 
ning  ahead  for  that  little  home.  And  yet 
he,  too,  at  a  moment's  notice,  flings  off  his 
new  manhood,  and  is — all  that  she  is.  So 
young  has  he  become,  that  he  feels  he  has 


WILD  OATS  93 

no  past,  he  feels  pure  and  good  and  worthy. 
Such  is  the  magic  of  the  Enchanted  Gar 
dens. 

Zug  understands;  but  he  is  helpless  and 
it  is  too  late,  anyhow.  He  goes  his  own 
way. 

Doctor  Rast  understands,  and  gets  joy 
from  it,  being  a  wise  man,  and  hence  drain 
ing  good  out  of  all  situations. 

The  mother  understands,  and,  having  sat 
isfied  herself  concerning  family  and  salary 
and  prospects,  is  ready  to  die  happily. 

All  the  world  knows,  and  is  reminded  of 
its  youth,  and  has  its  delighted  laugh. 

Then  comes  an  ardent  summer's  night, 
after  a  roasting  summer's  day.  Edith  and 
Frank  are  at  Coney  Island.  They  have 
wandered  among  the  dense  hot  people;  they 
have  heard  blare  of  brass,  and  beat  of 
drum;  the  carousel  has  shrieked  around; 
the  screaming  ladies  bumped  the  bumps; 
the  laughter-shrill  girls  shot  the  chutes. 
Edith  and  Frank  are  tired  of  the  noise. 
They  wander  to  the  sand,  they  walk  away 
from  the  din. 


94  WILD  OATS 

Then,  lo,  the  beauty  of  the  night!  Lus 
trous  stars  in  the  still  heavens,  ocean  run 
ning  in  and  out  gold  against  the  flare  of 
Coney;  breakers  with  soft  cry  thinning 
on  the  beach.  Oh,  the  loneliness,  the  heart 
ache,  the  sad  music  of  the  sea.  Close  they 
walk,  and  closer.  They  are  both  rilled  with 
sadness,  unutterable,  poignant  yearning. 
They  want  each  other.  Away  world! 
Away  you  shouting  crowds!  They  want 
each  other — the  soul  cries,  the  flesh  cries. 

They  stand  still  and  listen.  How  the 
ocean  is  yearning,  as  if  for  speech!  They 
droop  toward  each  other.  Now  enchant 
ment  is  not  enough,  golden  air  is  not 
enough.  Each  other  they  want.  Yes,  the 
ripening  process  is  brought  to  an  issue! 

Very  close  they  stand. 

"Edith!" 

"Frank!" 

"Edith— Edith!" 

"Oh,  Frank!" 

He  grasps  her  hand,  she  does  not  with 
draw  it. 

"I  love  you    .    .    ."  he  whispers. 


WILD  OATS  95 

"I  love  you." 

Her  arms  are  about  his  neck,  his  about 
hers.  Their  lips  meet  .  .  .  and  oh,  the 
heights,  the  heights  .  .  .  ecstasy,  swoon 
ing  ecstasy.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  VI 

MR.   GRUPP  INTERRUPTS 

THAT  next  night  was  a  hot  one.  The 
Krolls  and  Mr.  Grupp  sat  at  table 
in  the  kitchen  in  the  late  light  of 
day.  They  were  drinking  iced  tea  to  wash 
down  the  cold  sliced  lamb.  The  pitcher 
clinked;  knives  and  forks  clattered;  flies 
buzzed  about  their  ears  or  sung  their  swan- 
songs  on  the  sticky  fly-paper;  and  through 
the  open  window  and  door  came  the  jar 
ring  clamor  of  the  city.  Boys  were  yell 
ing  on  the  street;  the  neighbors  up  and 
downstairs  were  arguing  with  loud  voices ; 
somewhere  a  baby  began  to  howl ;  laughter 
shook  the  air;  wheel-noise;  whistle-shriek. 
The  hot  spell  was  on.  All  day  the  toilers 
had  been  wasted  in  a  furnace  of  stone;  walls 
and  pave  breathed  heat;  and  with  the  com 
ing  of  scarlet  sunset,  a  great  noise  went  up 


WILD  OATS  97 

from  the  released  millions.  The  poor  fat 
mother  was  dizzy  and  faint,  and  quarreled 
and  complained;  Edith,  in  a  thin  white 
dress  that  made  her  look  very  girlish,  was 
a  million  miles  away  on  the  wings  of 
dream;  the  boys  and  Mr.  Grupp,  in  their 
shirt-sleeves,  damned  the  weather 

Said  Mr.  Grupp: 

"I  saw  a  fat  woman-lady  on  Hester  Street 
melt.  The  boys  made  a  sliding-pond  after 
ward." 

Marcus  and  Sam  laughed. 

"She  had  a  rubber  mouth,"  said  Mr. 
Grupp.  "It  was  so  elastic,  a  Grand  Street 
pushcart  could  turn  around  in  it." 

He  arose  from  his  chair  and  circled  the 
table  for  a  lump  of  sugar. 

"What  are  you  getting  up  for?"  cried 
Mrs.  Kroll  indignantly.  "Such  manners!" 

"Oh,  excuse!  excuse!"  he  moaned. 
"You're  so  nervous.  Yes,  in  the  old  coun 
try  they  call  it  meschugge  (loony)." 

"Will  you  sit  down?"  cried  Mrs.  Kroll. 

But  Mr.  Grupp  seized  Edith  under  the 
chin. 

"My  Sveetie!    Give  me  a  kiss!" 


98  WILD  OATS 

Edith's  laughter  rippled  silver-clear  and 
sweet. 

"Later!"  she  whispered  mysteriously. 

"Will  you  sit  down?"  cried  the  mother, 
outraged. 

"Just  one  kiss!"  he  laughed.  "See  how 
her  nose  turns  up,  the  little  Sveetie!" 

Edith  pushed  his  hand  away. 

"Oh,  the  women!"  he  sighed,  "I'm  glad 
I'm  an  old  batch." 

"Sit  down!"  cried  the  mother. 

"Sit  down!"  the  boys  chorused. 

Mr.  Grupp  stole  behind  Marcus,  crooked 
his  first  finger  against  his  thumb,  and  with 
a  low,  "I  give  you  a  schnelker,"  let  the 
first  finger  fly  like  a  steel  spring  released. 
It  caught  Marcus  a  sting  on  the  ear.  Mr. 
Grupp  danced  up  and  down  with  glee, 
while  the  mother  and  boys  shouted: 

"Don't  you  begin  your  schnelking!  It's 
too  hot!" 

Schnelking  was  a  Grupp  institution, 
which  he  assured  them  he  himself  had  in 
troduced  in  America,  though,  much  to  his 
own  discomfort,  as  he  himself  received  the 


WILD  OATS  99 

greatest  number.  Laughingly,  he  returned 
to  his  seat,  the  sweat  trickling  down  his 
ruddy  face. 

"Oh,  weh,"  he  wailed,  "I've  lost  my  ap 
petite "  and  as  he  was  about  to  tell 

them  of  the  juicy  steak,  the  twenty-two  eggs 
and  the  yowsas,  the  boys  cried: 

"Cut  it  out!" 

"Lost  your  appetite!"  shrilled  the 
mother.  "You  eat  like  a  pig." 

"Now,  I'm  insulted,"  said  Mr.  Grupp, 
mournfully  shaking  his  head.  "Next  time 
I  wouldn't  come  here;  I  stay  away;  and 
then  there  will  be  crying  and  howling, 
'Oh,  where  is  Mr.  Grupp,  where  is  Mo.' 
You'll  be  sorry  if  I  don't  come! — Pardon 
the  pickles!" 

Sam  handed  him  the  pickles. 

"Have  some  more  meat,  Mo,"  he  urged. 

"Not  for  a  thousand  dollars,"  cried  Mr. 
Grupp.  "Never."  He  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders.  "But  seeing  it's  on  the  table — well 


He  took  a  generous  slice. 

The  mother  was  slicing  the  cake. 


ioo  WILD  OATS 

"Mamma,"  said  Sam  acidly,  "why  do 
you  have  cake?  You  know  no  one  cares 
for  it." 

"If  you  don't  like  what  you  get  here," 
cried  the  mother,  "find  some  other  board 
ing  house!" 

"But  why  do  you  have  cake?"  insisted 
Sam. 

The  mother  began  to  tremble. 

"You'll  be  glad  yet  if  you  can  get  cake 
"  she  began. 

Edith  woke  from  her  trance  and  spoke 
sharply: 

"Sam!"  She  turned  to  her  mother: 
"Remember,  dear!" 

Sam  drummed  on  the  table,  the  mother 
wiped  her  eyes.  Mr.  Grupp  looked  tragic. 

But  then  he  pulled  out  a  cigar  and  of 
fered  it  to  Sam. 

"My  last,"  he  said. 

The  air  cleared  in  laughter. 

"That's  one  of  those  smoke  here  and  die 
home,"  growled  Sam.  "No,  thanks." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Grupp,  and  lit 
up. 

Then  he  expanded.  Then  he  blew  clouds 


WILD  OATS  101 

of  foul  smoke.  Then  he  sang  German  stu 
dent-songs,  with  roaring  choruses.  Then 
he  arose  and  tramped  grenadier-fashion  up 
and  down  the  kitchen. 

Edith  and  her  mother  cleared  the  table 
and  washed  the  dishes  at  the  sink;  the  boys 
put  on  shirts  and  collars  and  coats,  and,  an 
nouncing  that  they  would  return  in  the  cold 
gray  dawning  of  the  morning  after,  went 
off  for  their  night  on  the  water.  Then,  at 
last,  Edith  stole  into  the  dark  parlor,  whose 
ceiling  was  splashed  with  light  from  the 
street  below,  and  sat  on  the  sill  of  the  open 
window,  leaning  out  on  the  fire-escape. 

Intensely  human  was  the  scene.  All  the 
windows  opposite  were  open,  and  in  the  lit 
rooms  she  saw  the  silhouettes  of  moving 
women  and  men  and  children.  Children 
played  on  the  fire-escapes;  out  of  dark  win 
dows  hung  shadowy  forms,  and  the  street 
from  end  to  end  was  black  with  humanity. 
Boys  and  girls  played  I-spy  over  the  gut 
ter;  the  stoops  were  thronged  with  mothers 
taking  the  evening  air;  young  men  and 
women  stood  before  lighted  shop-windows 
chatting,  flirting,  laughing.  She  saw  in  the 


102  WILD  OATS 

delicatessen  shop  opposite  the  busy  trades 
man  with  his  wife,  the  little  children  and 
the  women  customers.  The  night  was  drip 
ping  hot,  the  darkened  heavens  pulsing  red 
with  the  lights  of  the  broadcast  city;  but 
so  much  better  was  it  than  the  sun-wilted 
day,  that  people  breathed  free,  resting, 
laughing,  chatting. 

Sweet  was  the  scene,  and  so  human,  that 
it  brought  the  tears  to  Edith's  eyes.  How 
she  loved  the  world  at  that  moment.  For 
she  loved  and  was  loved,  and  it  seemed  to 
her  that  all  these  people,  too,  were  lovers 
— a  world  of  lovers — the  young  boys  and 
girls,  the  husbands  and  wives,  the  mothers 
with  young  babies,  the  grandmothers  and 
grandfathers.  Into  this  life  she  would 
plunge;  these  people  her  people;  their  lives 
her  life.  She  wanted  but  the  commonest, 
humanest  things.  She  had  no  dream  of 
wealth  or  power  or  pleasure.  She  wanted 
her  own  home;  her  husband;  her  children. 
She  wanted  to  travel  in  the  dust  of  the  com 
mon  road,  deep  in  the  warmth  of  the  human 
crowd. 

All  day  she  had  been  overbubbling  with 


WILD  OATS  103 

laughter  and  tears,  with  happiness  wild  and 
perfect,  with  blushes  and  shy  beating  of  the 
heart,  and  now  her  heart  took  on  tender 
ness,  a  great  tenderness.  No  longer  was 
she  contented  with  the  first  enchantment  of 
love;  something  more  real,  something  more 
of  the  brown  earth,  something  rooted  in  the 
soil  she  wanted.  She  wanted  Frank;  her 
own  home;  her  own  table  and  stove. 

There  was  a  light  knock  on  the  door;  she 
leaped  up  with  a  glad  cry,  and  Frank  came 
in.  Their  arms  went  about  each  other,  ten 
derly;  their  lips,  still  tingling  with  that 
first  kiss,  met  again;  she  drew  his  head 
closer  passionately. 

"How  are  you?"  he  murmured.  "Edith, 
how  are  you?" 

"Ssh!"  she  warned.  "Mother!  I'll  light 
up!  Quick!" 

They  laughed  excitedly,  and  as  Edith 
whispered,  "Tell  her  right  away!  Have 
it  over  with!"  he  lit  the  gas,  turning  it  low, 
so  that  the  shutters  could  remain  open. 
They  heard  the  mother  coming,  and  cour 
age  oozed  out  of  them;  Frank  felt  very 
young,  much  ashamed  and  very  self-con- 


io4  WILD  OATS 

scious;  and  Edith  grew  pale  and  blushed 
rosily  and  shyly  hung  her  head.  The 
mother,  who  all  along  was  but  a  poor  sick 
woman,  now  seemed  a  veritable  ogre. 

She  toddled  in,  puffing. 

"Oh,  good  evening!"  she  said  to  Frank. 

He  grasped  her  hand  very  eagerly. 

"I  hope  you  are  feeling  well!  I  hope 
you  ain't  sick  in  this  weather!" 

"Ain't?"  whispered  Edith. 

Frank  laughed  strangely,  and  all  sat 
down,  the  mother  rocking  slowly  in  a  big 
rocker,  and  fanning  herself  with  a  Yid 
dish  newspaper.  Only  then  did  Edith 
notice  how  carefully  he  was  dressed.  Poor 
fellow!  he  felt  as  if  he  were  decked  for  his 
own  funeral. 

The  mother  pounced  upon  the  word 
"sick." 

"You  should  never  be  so  sick  as  I,  Mr. 
Lasser.  Oi!  Oi!  Eat  I  some  strudel  yes 
terday  and  some  ice-cream  and  cucumbers, 
and  I  get  such  cramps  in  my  stomach,  like 
I  could  yell.  You  could  feel  here,"  she 
pressed  her  hand  on  her  side,  "I  get  a  lump 


WILD  OATS  105 

like  a  piece  of  ice.  Did  you  ever  have  gas 
on  the  heart ' 

But  Frank  was  too  excited. 

"Mrs.  Kroll,"  he  burst  out,  "I  want  to 
speak  to  you!" 

"What?" 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you!" 

"Speak?" 

"Yes — I  want  to  tell  you  something!" 

The  mother  looked  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Well,  young  man,  speak!" 

The  air  was  breathless  now,  vague  with 
expectancy,  hushed  with  crisis.  Frank  had 
had  his  speech  all  ready,  well  rehearsed, 
but  the  "young  man"  took  the  wind  out  of 
his  sails.  He  collapsed,  and  the  drops 
stood  out  on  his  forehead. 

"You  know" — he  stammered — "why — 
it's  just— 

"Oh,  my  old  college  chum!" 

And  in  burst  expansive  Mr.  Grupp.  "My 
old  college  chum!  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you!" 

He  rushed  over  to  Frank  and  seized  his 
hand.  Edith  frowned,  Frank  pushed  him 
off. 


io6  WILD  OATS 

"How  do  you  do!"  cried  Mr.  Grupp. 
"It's  so  long  since  I  seen  you!  But  I  met 
your  uncle  on  Broadway  yesterday." 

The  mother  could  not  contain  herself. 

"Will  you  go  out?  That  man's  a  nui 
sance!  Go  out!" 

"Oh,  how  nervous  we're  getting,"  wailed 
Mr.  Grupp.  "You  shouldn't  get  so  nerv 


ous." 


Edith  spoke  in  a  low,  tremulous  voice : 

"Mr.  Lasser  wants  to  speak  to  Mother. 
Please — please  go  out,  Mr.  Grupp!" 

"Oh,  ho,"  cried  Mr.  Grupp.  "Ah,  ha! 
Business!  God  forbid  I  should  distoib  you. 
I  be  back  in  a  minute." 

So  saying,  he  vanished. 

Rude  was  the  excitement  in  the  air.  The 
mother  stopped  fanning;  Frank  shrank  and 
shrank  until  he  was  small  enough  for  short 
pants;  Edith  looked  away,  and  gasped. 

"Well,  young  man,"  said  the  mother,  as 
if  she  were  charging  an  enemy. 

"You  see,"  he  stammered,  "it's  just  like 
this- 

"Don't  grabble  around  so,"  the  mother 
spoke  frankly. 


WILD  OATS  107 

Frank  stared  at  her;  she  stared  at  him. 
That  was  too  much  for  Edith,  who  loosed 
silver  bells  of  laughter,  ran  to  her  mother, 
circled  her  neck,  and  whispered: 

"Mother,  dear— you  know — you  must 
know!" 

And  Frank,  laughing  nervously,  took  up 
the  tale : 

"Why,  of  course,  Edith  and  I- 

In  burst  the  inevitable  Grupp,  announc 
ing  with  waving  hand: 

"The  trouble  is  just  this.  The  young 
folks  kiss  each  other  too  much,  and  then, 
when  they  are  married,  they  couldn't  kiss 
for  a  hundred  dollars.  Now  the  right  way 
is  this:  One  kiss  a  day,  before  and  after. 
And  you  could  kiss  all  your  life!" 

"Will  you  go  out?"  shrilled  the  mother. 
"Did  you  ever  see  such  a  man?" 

"Oh,"  he  cried,  in  astonishment.  "Busi 
ness!  Business!  I'll  be  right  back!" 

And  vanished. 

"Such  a  man!"  cried  the  mother. 

Silence  followed,  vast  and  empty  silence. 
Then  Frank  tried  again: 

"As  I  was  about  to  say 


io8  WILD  OATS 

Suddenly  the  mother  rose,  Frank  rose, 
Edith  rose.  A  radiant  smile  was  on  the 
mother's  face: 

"I  know — Frank,"  she  said  simply,  and 
seized  him  and  kissed  him. 

He  flung  his  arms  about  the  good  woman 
and  hugged  her  for  all  he  was  worth. 

Edith  clapped  her  hands,  and  cried: 

"Mother!    Mother,  darling!" 

And  then  mother  and  daughter  clasped 
and  kissed.  Wild  joy  sang  through  the 
room.  Mother  and  daughter  wept  those 
tears  that  underlie  laughter,  the  tears  of 
sacred  joy,  and  Mr.  Grupp,  bursting  in 
with: 

"It's  a  bargain,"  received  the  promised 
kiss  from  his  "Sweetie,"  and  gripping 
Frank's  hand,  advised  fifty  years  engaged, 
one  year  married. 

Then  all  sat  down,  and  lips  were  loosed. 

"Mother,"  cried  Edith,  "we've  loved 
each  other  ever  so  long,  and  ever  so  much ! 
I  can't  tell  you  how  much!  Did  you  ever 
even  dream  we  were  in  love?" 

"Did    I    ever?"    laughed    the    mother. 


WILD  OATS  109 

"What  children!     I  knew  it  already  two 
months." 

"And  never  said  a  word?"  from  Edith. 

"What  could  I  say!    What  children!— 
Frank!"  she  began. 

"Yes,  Mother!" 

Then  they  all  laughed  again,  and  Edith 
sat  on  the  arm  of  Frank's  chair  and  kissed 
him  for  the  word. 

The  mother's  voice  saddened: 

"Edy  is  a  good  girl — she  is  the  best  I 
have  in  this  world.  I  could  die  happy  if 
she  was  married  to  a  good  man." 

Frank  spoke  very  humbly: 

"I— I'll  try  to  be  worthy  of  Edith." 

"Oh,"  cried  Edith,  "you  don't  know 
Frank.  He's  noble  and  true  and  good " 

"No,  Edith,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
"don't  say  that!" 

So  Edith  kissed  him  and  whispered  of 
his  goodness. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Grupp,"  said  the  mother  tear 
fully,  "the  children  grow  up  in  a  day,  and 
you  and  I  get  old.  But  I  am  very  happy." 

Then  she  rose  and  took  Frank  by  the 
hand  and  spoke  to  him  secretly. 


no  WILD  OATS 

"Be  very  good  to  Edy.  Make  her  very 
happy.  I  was  not  so  happy  myself.  I 
know  how  it  is.  Always  be  kind,  and  think 
of  her,  and  do  little  things  to  please  her. 
She  is  not  like  other  girls,  Frank;  she 
wants  little — only  some  one  should  love 
her,  and  be  kind,  and  make  a  home  for 
her." 

Frank  could  hardly  speak  for  tears: 

"There  is  no  girl  like  her  in  the  world, 
Mother.  I  swear  I'll  be  good  to  her!" 

"Good !"  she  murmured.  "That's  right !" 
and  again  she  kissed  him. 

"So,"  she  nodded  to  Mr.  Grupp.  "Come 
— they  want  to  talk!" 

And  she  and  Mr.  Grupp  went  out,  and 
the  lovers  sat  down  on  the  sofa  together. 
They  were  very  serious  that  night.  Life 
was  very  sacred  and  sweet.  Edith  put  her 
head  on  his  shoulder,  and  he  drew  her 
close. 

"Sweetheart!"  he  said. 

A  kiss  had  to  follow  that  wonderful 
word,  and  then  they  began  speaking  in  low 
voices: 


WILD  OATS  in 

"Soon,"  he  said,  "we  shall  have  our 
home,  Edith — just  you  and  I  there,  alone — 
alone  together ' 

"Alone  together!"  she  echoed. 

They  were  silent,  dreaming  of  that  hum 
ble  vision — those  rooms  with  two  faces 
coming  and  going — and  then  Edith : 

"Isn't  it  strange  that  out  of  all  people, 
just  you  and  I  should  marry  each  other?" 

"No,  it  had  to  be." 

"Do  you  really  think  so,  dear?" 

Again  a  wonderful  word,  and  a  kiss. 

"Yes,"  said  he. 

"Oh,  I'm  glad!  I'm  glad,  then!  Be 
cause  I  want  to  feel  that  you  are  just  for 
me — only  for  me." 

"I  am,"  he  murmured. 

Their  talk  began  to  grow  practical,  as  it 
should  have,  for  the  daily  toil  must  be 
touched  and  transformed  by  the  high  love. 

"Oh,  I  am  going  to  be  such  a  good  man 
ager,"  said  Edith.  "I'm  going  to  have 
Mother  teach  me  the  things  I  don't  know. 
I  want  to  be  the  best  housewife  in  the 
world." 


ii2  WILD  OATS 

He  laughed  softly: 

"You  will  be!  And  I'll  be  so  proud  of 
my  wife!" 

"Your  iDifel" 

"Yes,"  he  murmured,  "dear  little  wife!" 

She  put  her  arms  about  him. 

"Husband!" 

Sweet  and  deep  was  the  embrace  and  the 
kiss. 

And  lest  we  now  be  overwhelmed  with 
kisses,  we  must  gently  draw  the  curtain 
while  these  two  young  human  beings  gaze 
into  the  sunrise  of  their  wedded  life. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  GOLDEN-HAIRED  ONE 

FRANK  was  in  Pittsburgh  the  follow 
ing  Saturday  night,  and  Pittsburgh 
is  a  weird  city.  It  is  a  narrow  point 
of  river-ringed  land,  circled  with  mills  that 
flame  like  Inferno  all  night  long.  All  day 
the  soft-coal  smoke  shrouds  the  streets,  and 
at  times  thickens  into  a  dirty  fog.  The 
buildings  are  soot-blackened  and  look  old. 
The  stranger  goes  about  with  an  umbrella, 
momently  expecting  a  storm  to  break.  Not 
all  the  water  in  the  Ohio  River  can  keep 
the  hands  of  the  town  clean.  One  dabs  up 
soot  from  the  parlor-table,  and  clean  linen 
lasts  an  hour.  Out  of  the  mouths  of  the 
converters  lining  the  river  below  shoots  up 
a  snow  of  golden  flakes,  and  as  one  draws 
near  one  hears  the  wild  klong-a-al,  bang- 
bang,  st-st-st,  spla,  <wo<w  of  the  mills  as  of 

"3 


1 14  WILD  OATS 

a  jungle  howling,  and  one  sees  half-naked 
men,  like  imps,  running  in  and  out  among 
the  flames.  Shanties  and  palaces  cling  to 
the  hollows  and  hills  of  the  town,  side  by 
side. 

What  can  a  full-blooded  man  do  in  such 
a  town  on  a  Saturday  night?  There  are  a 
few  theaters,  but  Frank  was  not  allured. 
Besides,  he  was  saving  money.  He  had  fin 
ished  his  day's  business,  and  as  there  was 
no  train  for  the  next  town  till  the  morning, 
he  was  forced  to  inhabit  Pittsburgh  over 
night.  He  had  written  the  daily  letter  to 
Edith,  and  sent  it  by  special  delivery.  Some 
old  friends  had  asked  him  to  "go  out  with 
the  boys."  He  had  refused,  much  to  their 
amusement. 

So  he  sauntered  down  Fifth  Avenue, 
which  end  to  end  was  a  blaze  of  wild  ad 
vertisements  and  glaring  shop-windows. 
The  music  of  the  Nickel  Theaters  blared 
out  over  the  street;  globes  of  copper  light 
flooded  the  pavement;  a  long  procession  of 
lighted  trolley-cars  thumped  by,  up,  and 
down;  and  a  black  swarm  of  holiday-happy 
people  streamed  about  him.  Newsboys 


WILD  OATS 

shouted;  young  girls  laughed.  For  the 
week's  work  was  ended,  for  all  save  the 
toilers  in  the  mills — those  souls  being  con 
sumed  in  the  fires  of  Pittsburgh — and  a 
glad  irresponsible  freedom  leaped  from 
heart  to  heart,  from  eye  to  eye,  from  lip  to 
lip.  A  wine  of  splendor  drenched  the  cool 
air;  an  electricity  of  romance  was  abroad. 

Frank  was  listless;  Frank  was  lonely. 
The  evening  stretched  before  him  intermin 
ably  long.  What  should  he  do?  Girls 
laughed  in  his  eyes — sweet  faces,  daring 
faces,  flashing  faces.  He  grew  restless,  fe 
verish.  Old  voices  began  to  call  him;  the 
old  wildness  swept  round  him.  He  could 
not  help  thinking  back  to  the  wild-oats 
days,  when  his  Saturday  nights  held  an  in 
toxication  long  since  put  by.  It  was  the 
wine  of  life  that  was  offered  to  his  lips 
again;  the  wine  that  courses  through  the 
veins  like  fire,  and  sweeps  the  brain  with 
a  glad  delirium.  More  and  more  restless 
he  trudged  along,  trying  to  keep  himself 
in  hand,  trying  to  deafen  his  ears  to  the 
siren  voices  of  the  past. 

But  the  Past  keeps  a  strange  grip  on  the 


ii6  WILD  OATS 

soul.  Bury  the  old  Frank  ever  so  deep, 
he  is  still  there.  Those  brain-cells  wrought 
by  the  wild  young  years  are  still  there  in 
the  gray  convolutions.  We  are  but  pris 
oners  of  the  Past  that  bore  us.  And  so 
this  night  Frank  was  beginning  to  pay  for 
his  youth. 

He  was  startled  to  feel  these  old  de 
sires,  these  old  memories  swarming  over 
him  like  roused  hornets.  And  then  sud 
denly  he  remembered  the  "golden-haired 
one" — over  the  river,  in  Alleghany,  Madge 
Madden,  the  strapping  Valkyrie-woman, 
blue-eyed  and  golden-haired.  Madge  was 
a  country  girl,  full-blooded,  the  health  of 
the  hills  and  the  sun  and  wind  not  yet  worn 
away.  She  had  not  the  flaccid  appearance 
of  vice;  rather  the  flaunting  bold  strength 
of  a  daring  adventuress.  She  was  a  strong 
goddess  of  the  streets.  How  well  Frank  re 
membered  her!  How  she  had  enchanted 
him  in  the  old  days! 

And  now  strolling  along  he  remembered 
her  glad  bold  voice;  he  felt  her  touch;  he 
saw  vividly  her  face.  The  young  girls 
smiled  on  him,  recalling  the  fact  that  he 


WILD  OATS  117 

was  handsome.  His  blood  began  to  beat 
faster;  his  pulses  thronged  with  life;  he 
wanted  adventure,  enjoyment.  Edith  be 
gan  to  fade  far;  New  York  was  a  long  dis 
tance  to  the  East;  a  man  lives  but  once. 
Why  not  enjoy  this  night,  too?  This  night 
is  as  real  as  any  other,  and  it  is  fast  slipping 
through  the  fingers. 

The  old  Frank  was  in  the  ascendant. 
His  eyes  began  to  sparkle,  he  smiled,  he 
hurried.  By  instinct,  if  not  by  forethought, 
he  began  to  wander  across  dark  vacant 
streets  to  the  river.  He  paid  the  penny-toll 
at  the  bridge  and  began  walking  across. 
Below  him  ran  the  smooth  river-tide  with 
here  and  there  a  suspended  lantern  casting 
its  gold  or  red  or  green  reflection  like  a 
lance  along  the  swaying  waters.  A  soft 
cool  air  blew  sweet  over  his  face,  with  dark 
hint  of  pungent  coal-smoke.  Overhead, 
here  and  there,  was  a  star.  Behind  him 
glowed  the  towering  city;  before  him  were 
the  low  dim  lights  and  the  strings  of  street- 
lamps  of  Alleghany.  A  madness  seized 
him ;  lusty  sang  his  blood.  And  so  he  pene 
trated  those  streets,  trudging  by  lonely  one 


ii8  WILD  OATS 

and  two-story  brick  houses,  and  passing  now 
and  then  some  shattered  woman  who 
emerged  from  the  shadows. 

Those  months  which  had  so  changed  him 
fell  off,  dropping  into  far  abysses.  And 
yet,  but  a  few  days  before  he  had  kissed 
Edith  good-by,  and  they  had  shed  tears  to 
gether!  And  yet  this  very  afternoon  he 
had  written  her  a  tender  letter,  full  of 
heartache  and  loneliness  and  passionate 
vows  and  sweet  kisses — which  letter  on  the 
morrow  Edith  would  cry  over,  and  press  to 
her  lips  and  her  heart.  But  far  away  was 
the  sweet,  true  little  woman — quite  van 
ished.  Such  is  the  strength  of  the  buried 
Past. 

Up  a  little  hilly  street  he  wandered,  en 
tered  a  dark  empty  hall,  and  knocked  on  a 
door.  He  felt  laughably  excited  and  dar 
ing.  He  even  felt  that  he  had  regained 
his  true  manhood,  that  now  he  was  free  and 
bold  and  brave. 

The  door  flung  open.  In  a  dim  glow 
stood  the  golden-haired  one,  large  as  life. 

"Who  is  it?"  the  voice  held  harsh,  strong 
music. 


WILD  OATS  119 

"Me,  Madge!" 

"You?"  she  cried,  delighted.  "Well,  I'll 
be  hanged!  Hello!"  She  seized  his  hand 
and  pulled  him  into  the  room.  "Frank,  but 
I'm  glad  to  see  you'  Show  your  face.  Let 
me  get  a  look." 

She  had  a  little  asbestos  gas-grate  rip 
pling  low  flame  under  the  mantel.  No 
other  light  was  in  the  room,  and  the  soft 
blue  glow  spread  out  and  up,  leaving  the 
ceiling  and  walls  in  shadow.  The  air  was 
just  cool  enough  for  a  bit  of  fire. 

"Well,"  he  laughed,  "I'm  here!" 

She  drew  him  before  the  fire,  looked  him 
over,  and  plunged  him  in  a  low  Morris 
chair.  He  settled  back  comfortably.  She 
took  a  deep  chair  opposite,  and  offered  him 
cigarettes. 

They  both  lit  up  and  puffed  idly. 

In  the  dancing  blue  light  he  noticed  her 
face,  the  wild  golden  hair,  the  blue  eyes 
and  red  lips,  the  rosy  cheeks.  A  little  voice 
in  him  cried  out  that  there  was  coarseness 
and  vulgarity  in  the  face,  but  he  hushed 
it,  and  gave  himself  over  to  enjoyment. 

The  strong  music  of  her  voice  rose  again : 


120  WILD  OATS 

"You're  a  nice  one!  I've  been  as  lonely 
as  a  cat!" 

"Miss  me,  Madge?" 

She  spoke  musingly: 

"Every  Saturday  night  I  thought  it  was 
you  coming.  I  had  everything  ready. 
Look." 

He  looked.  On  a  small  table  at  his  side 
was  a  bottle  of  whiskey  and  a  siphon  of 
vichy  and  two  glasses. 

"Well!"  he  cried,  his  pride  roused, 
"you're  a  dandy." 

Her  voice  was  almost  sad: 

"I'll  never  forget  you  Frank." 

"Oh,  why  not?"  he  asked  lightly. 

"Hard  to  say,"  she  sighed.  "I've  known 
many  men — but  a  woman  only  takes  to 


one." 


He  felt  a  thrill  at  the  words.  Suddenly 
she  laughed  gaily,  throwing  back  her  head : 

"But  away  with  the  mopes!  This  won't 
do,  my  handsome!  Fill  the  glass,  and  let's 
forget!" 

He  leaned  and  poured  whiskey  and 
sprayed  vichy,  and  each  held  up  a  glass. 

"Here's — us,"  she  cried. 


WILD  OATS  121 

"Us!" 

Glasses  clinked,  and  they  drank.  She 
put  hers  on  the  broad  arm  of  her  chair,  and 
leaned  over  and  took  his  hand  and  looked 
in  his  face. 

"Frank,  you  didn't  go  back  on  me?" 

He  smiled  and  shook  his  head  no. 

"You're  sure,  Frank?" 

"Sure,"  he  muttered. 

"You  know,"  she  mused,  "they  all  go, 
sooner  or  later,  one  by  one."  She  spoke 
in  an  intimate  rich  voice:  "You  didn't 
come  here  to  say  good-by?" 

"To  say  hello,  Madge,"  he  murmured. 

"Then  why,"  she  asked  low,  "did  you 
keep  me  waiting  all  this  time?" 

"I  was  busy." 

"Busy!  No,  it  wasn't  that!  I  know  what 
it  was!" 

He  laughed  softly  and  she  patted  his 
hand. 

"It's  some  other  woman,  Frank,"  she  said 
slowly,  "it's  some  one  else.  I  know  you. 
Will-o'-the-wisp!" 

He  lied  to  her  face: 

"No,  no!" 


122  WILDCATS 

Mad  was  his  blood  that  moment;  near 
were  her  lips,  her  eyes,  her  hair. 

"Madge!"  he  whispered. 

She  laughed  softly: 

"I  believe  the  boy  still  cares." 

She  sat  back,  still  laughing,  and  Frank 
started  to  fill  his  glass  again. 

Suddenly  Madge  sat  up. 

"Hello,"  she  cried  sharply. 

Frank  turned  toward  her. 

She  got  to  her  feet,  seized  his  hands,  and 
pulled  him  up. 

"You've  changed,"  she  said  sharply, 
"you're  different.  Where's  your  horseshoe 
pin,  your  high  collar,  your — Frank!  You're 
not  a  sport  any  more.  You've  toned  down. 
I  see  it.  Don't  say  you  haven't.  What's 
happened?" 

"What  of  it?"  he  stammered. 

"Yes,  you  have,  you  have!"  She  drew 
him  nearer.  "Look  in  my  eyes,  Frank,  look 
me  straight  in  the  eyes." 

He  tried  to  meet  her  eyes;  he  was  con 
fused  and  annoyed. 

She  spoke  in  a  low  voice : 

"It  is  some  other  woman." 


WILD  OATS    ,  123 

He  looked  down.     She  breathed  closer. 

"Are  you  going  to  be  married?" 

He  said  nothing. 

"Are  you  going  to  be  married?" 

He  said  angrily: 

"What  if  I  am?" 

She  spoke  very  low: 

"You  lied  to  my  face!  You  lied  to  my 
face!" 

He  could  not  meet  her  eyes.  Suddenly 
he  felt  a  terrific  sweep  of  shame  pass 
through  him;  shame  and  guilt.  Why  was 
he  here?  He  had  a  sharp  vision  of  Edith, 
reproach  on  her  face.  Why  had  he  come? 
All  passion  went  out  of  him ;  he  was  angry 
with  Madge,  and  hated  himself. 

"Let  me  alone,"  he  blustered. 

"What  are  you  doing?" 

"I'm  going — good-by!" 

She  seized  his  arm: 

"No — forgive  me — I  didn't  mean  it — 
tell  me  about  her,  Frank.  Tell  me!" 

He  pushed  her  hand  away  and  started. 

"Frank!" 

"I'm  going  to  leave  you.  I  had  no  busi 
ness  to  come!" 


124  WILD  OATS 

"But  now  you're  here.  You  must  stay — 
you  must!" 

"I  tell  you  I'm  going." 

"You're  not!"  Again  she  seized  his  arm. 
"You're  going  to  stay!  You  must!" 

"Will  you  let  me  alone?"  He  threw  off 
her  arm,  and  reached  for  his  hat. 

"Frank!    Frank!" 

"Good-by!"  he  cried. 

"But  just  to-night!  I  didn't  mean  it. 
Can't  you  forgive  me?  For  old  sakes' 
sake?" 

"I'm  going  back  to  her." 

She  laughed  wildly: 

"Then  go.    But  I'll  have  my  last  kiss!" 

She  flung  her  arms  about  his  neck  and 
kissed  him.  He  turned  madly,  he  drew  her 
close.  But  she  pushed  him  away,  wildly 
laughing. 

"Go!    Go!" 

She  opened  the  door,  and  seized  his  arm: 

"Go,  I  tell  you!" 

He  passed  through  and  she  slammed  the 
door.  Then  he  reeled  out  like  a  drunkard 
in  the  cool  night  air,  and  knew  himself  as 
he  was. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

TWILIGHT 

A  SWEET  rain  freshened  the  summer 
afternoon,  drawing  a  good  smell 
from  the  baking  pavements.  Our 
wild-rose,  who  perhaps  was  changing  into 
a  red,  red  rose  of  the  gardens,  she  was  so 
womanly  grave  and  wise,  stole  forth  to  see 
Nell  Rast.  She  did  not  use  her  umbrella, 
for  the  rain  was  sweet  on  her  face,  and  she 
had  on  old  clothes.  And  so  she  glided 
along,  among  the  playing  children  and  the 
serious  idle  old  men  and  women,  fresh  as 
the  rain,  rich  as  the  summer. 

She  had  given  up  her  job;  there  was 
much  sewing  to  be  done — linen  to  be  in 
itialed,  and  a  modest  trousseau  to  be 
wrought.  She  had  said  good-by  to  the  boss, 
who,  spite  of  his  grim  ways,  showed  his 
sorrow  in  a  little  check.  She  had  said 
125 


ia6  WILD  OATS 

good-by  to  Jonas  Zug,  and  told  him  so 
cordially  that  he  must  call  after  she  was 
married,  that  he  could  not  speak.  And 
now  the  long,  long  summer  days  were  hers 
— what  dreams,  what  schemes,  what  happy 
business!  Her  mother  took  on  new  life  as 
they  discussed  stitches  and  soups  and  fur 
niture.  And  Nell,  meeting  her  marketing, 
basket  on  arm,  had  told  her  to  call.  Nell 
was  very  sensitive  about  people.  Almost 
intuitively  she  knew  them.  She  could  not 
let  this  innocent  girl  go  ignorantly  into 
marriage. 

And  so  Edith  glided  into  the  cool,  dark 
hallway  and  knocked  at  the  kitchen.  Nell 
opened  the  door. 

"Why,  it's  Edith,"  she  laughed,  and 
kissed  her.  "It's  sweet  of  you  to  come!" 

Edith  laughed  softly,  and  stepped  in. 
Davy  was  tagging  at  his  mother's  skirt. 

"Mother!     Mother!    Mother!" 

"Well,  son?" 

"Where  are  you?" 

Nell  and  Edith  looked  at  eacn  other 
laughingly.  The  woman  and  the  girl  made 
a  pretty  contrast — Nell  with  her  large 


WILD  OATS  127 

brown  eyes,  her  hair  parted  in  center  and 
soft  over  her  forehead,  her  olive-tinted 
cheeks,  and  Edith  with  lighted  blue  eyes 
and  light  hair  and  wild-rose  cheeks — the 
one,  blooming  in  womanhood,  yet  graceful 
and  exquisite;  the  other,  just  brimming 
over  girlhood,  wild  in  her  beauty.  Yet  they 
were  both  of  a  size. 

"You  little  boy,"  cried  the  mother,  and 
plucked  him  up  and  pushed  his  face  close 
to  Edith's.  "Give  the  pretty  lady  a  kiss! 
Give  Aunt  Edith  a  kiss!" 

But  Davy  only  stared,  and  pushed  off. 

"Don't  you  love  me?"  asked  Edith. 

"No,"  he  cried,  "I  can't  love  you;  I  only 
like  you." 

The  distinction  was  a  fine  one,  and  Edith 
laughed. 

"Whom  do  you  love?" 

"I  love  Mother!  Mother,"  he  cried, 
"where  are  you?" 

"Here,  son!" 

"Then,  please,  dear  darling  Mother 
dear,  I  want  to  be  a  little  helper!" 

And  he  began  pulling  roguishly  at  her 
hair. 


ia8  WILD  OATS 

"Stop!"  she  cried.  "Shall  I  put  ink  on 
your  hand?" 

"Don't  you  do  that!"  he  warned  her. 

"Naughty  boy!  Now  you  can't  be  a 
helper!" 

She  set  him  on  the  floor,  and  he  drew 
down  the  corners  of  his  lips  like  a  bow 
pulled  round,  and  spoke  slowly  with  stifled 
sobs: 

"I  didn't  mean  it!  I  was  only  teasing 
you!  I  couldn't  help  it!" 

"Surely?" 

"Please,  please,  dear  Mother  dear!" 

"And  you'll  never  do  it  again?" 

"No!" 

So  Nell  took  from  the  table  a  bowl  of 
cake  dough  still  in  the  pasty  state  and  put  it 
on  a  chair,  and  the  young  man  danced  with 
delight,  took  a  big  metal  spoon  and  worked 
vigorously,  like  the  laborer  he  was. 

Nell  put  two  kitchen  chairs  side  by  side. 

"I  want  you  near  me,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 

Edith  took  off  her  hat  and  sat  down. 

"You're  sure  I'm  not  keeping  you  from 
your  work?" 


WILD  OATS  129 

Nell  only  laughed  and  sat  next  her  and 
took  her  two  hands. 

"Dear,"  she  said  sweetly,  "I  think  you're 
getting  more  beautiful  every  day." 

The  wild-rose  blushed. 

"When  is  he  coming  back?" 

"To-morrow." 

Nell  put  an  arm  about  the  girl. 

"Edith,"  she  said,  "I  want  you  to  be  very 
happy  in  your  marriage.  I  have  been  in 


mine." 


"I  know,"  murmured  Edith. 

"We  have  had  many  troubles,"  her  voice 
shook  a  little.  "Davy  has  had  his  sick 
nesses.  Sometimes  the  work  seems  like 
drudgery.  Sometimes  I  get  a  bit  heart-sick 
because  I  don't  see  enough  of  my  husband. 
You  see  he  is  a  very  busy  man.  Just  now, 
for  instance,  there's  a  roomful  of  patients  in 
front  and  he  won't  be  finished  till  supper 
time.  And  then,"  her  voice  lowered, 
"we've  had  money-troubles.  Marriage  isn't 
easy,  dear,  even  when  there's  love.  There 
are  so  many  disappointments,  so  many 
ruined  hopes,  so  much  wasted  strength  and 
time.  And  one  has  to  make  allowances." 


130  WILD  OATS 

She  hesitated  a  moment. 

"Don't  you  think  the  Doctor  a  splendid 
man?" 

"He's  perfect,"  whispered  the  wild-rose. 

Nell  laughed  softly. 

"No,  dear,  not  perfect.  Splendid,  but 
very  human.  I  want  to  tell  you  something, 
Edith;  I  want  to  make  one  thing  clear  to 
avoid  a  mistake  on  your  part." 

"What  is  that?" 

"No  two  human  beings,"  said  Nell,  "no 
matter  how  good  they  are  and  how  much 
they  love,  can  live  together  without  now 
and  then  getting  tired  of  each  other  or  jar 
ring  on  one  another." 

"Oh,  but  it's  different "  Edith  began. 

"No,  it  isn't,"  laughed  Nell.  "Don't  be 
lieve  me  now,  but  when  the  time  comes, 
you  will  remember  and  be  wise.  That  is 
the  time  for  making  allowances,  for  mak 
ing  sacrifices." 

The  wild-rose  didn't  believe  a  word. 

"And  then,"  Nell  went  on,  "remember, 
too,  that  love  changes.  Everything 
changes.  We  change  and  our  lives  and  our 
passions  change.  The  enchantment  that 


WILD  OATS  131 

comes  before  marriage  fades  afterward; 
fades,  vanishes,  to  give  way  for  something 
deeper,  more  durable,  more  sacred.  There 
will  even  come  a  time  when  you  will  won 
der  if  you  love  your  husband — no,  don't 
stop  me — and  then  you  will  find  that  it  is 
but  the  pain  of  growth.  A  better  love  is 
taking  its  place." 

The  wild-rose  protested  that  never  in 
her  life  would  she  cease  for  a  moment  to 
love  her  husband. 

At  this  juncture  groans  arose  from  the 
son  of  the  family. 

"Oh!    Oh!"  he  groaned. 

"What's  the  matter?"  cried  Nell. 

"I'm  putting  pepper  and  salt  in!" 

"Pepper  and  salt?"  Nell  arose  in  hor 
ror.  "What  have  you  been  doing?" 

She  strode  over  to  a  scene  of  ruin. 

"Edith,"  she  exclaimed,  and  then  shook 
with  wild  laughter.  "Look  at  this!  The 
rogue's  taken  his  father's  tobacco-can  and 
sprinkled  the  cake!  You  scamp!  You 
rogue!" 

She  seized  the  young  man  by  the  arm, 
and  again  he  made  a  mouth: 


i32  WILD  OATS 

"I'm  only  putting  pepper  and  salt  in!" 

"You've  ruined  my  nice  cake,  you 
scamp!" 

Edith  doubled  up  with  laughter.  There 
was  nothing  to  be  done,  so  his  lordship  had 
his  way,  and  mixed  in  what  ingredients  he 
could  find,  finally  sweeping  bread  crumbs 
from  the  table  and  making  neat  designs  on 
the  paste. 

Then  Nell  sat  down  again  and  went  on, 
gently  and  simply  as  any  mother.  She 
spoke  of  the  need  of  a  woman  keeping 
young — not  by  devices  of  hair  and  dress  so 
much — but  by  extending  her  life  beyond 
her  home. 

"Don't  be  shut  in  four  walls;  don't  nar 
row  down  to  three  rooms  and  a  street;  get 
out;  get  into  other  activities;  see  people; 
study,  read,  go  to  theater — anything.  And 
keep  pace  with  your  husband.  Don't  let 
him  grow  away  from  you.  Know  his 
work;  his  ambition.  Understand  and 
help." 

She  tried  to  impress  on  Edith  the  need 
of  growth ;  the  need  of  an  open  mind  and 
heart;  a  receptivity  to  the  unfamiliar;  a 


WILD  OATS  133 

courage  in  making  experiments  in  life,  in 
testing  out  new  theories  by  actual  living. 
And  then  by  slow  degrees  their  talk  drifted 
into  the  deepest  theme  of  life;  the  theme 
that  is  blood  and  breath  of  woman's  ex 
istence — creation. 

Edith  grew  breathless.  Now  was  she 
stirred  to  the  very  soul.  Now  was  her  thirst 
for  knowledge  to  be  quenched,  her  dark 
ness  irradiated  with  light.  Nell  put  it  very 
simply — how  children  are  born — but  the 
facts  went  crashing  through  the  girl's  ig 
norance  like  gusts  of  lightning. 

"You  see,"  said  Nell,  "mothers  don't  tell 
their  daughters,  and  the  young  girls  go  into 
the  greatest  and  most  vital  things  of  their 
life  without  knowing,  without  knowing.  I 
want  you  to  know." 

Edith  clung  to  her;  she  felt  the  burden 
of  a  new  responsibility;  she  felt  as  if  there 
were  to  be  put  in  her  hands  a  godlike 
power;  the  power  of  creating  new  life  on 
the  earth;  that  the  very  strength  of  the  suns 
and  the  might  of  God  would  pass  through 
her. 

And  then  Nell  went  on  to  speak  of  men, 


134  WILD  OATS 

and  the  perils  of  marriage.  She  spoke  of 
the  double-standard,  under  which  men 
freely  go  with  women  before  marriage,  and 
girls  remain  innocent. 

"Oh,"  cried  Edith,  staring  with  large 
eyes,  "but  not  all  men.  Not  all !" 

"Most  of  them,"  said  Nell  sadly. 

"It  can't  be,"  cried  Edith.  And  sud 
denly  she  remembered  Zug's  words,  and 
grew  very  pale. 

Darkness  was  beginning  to  spread  up  on 
her  horizon.  Better  to  remain  ignorant 
and  happy! 

Nell  saw  the  look  in  her  eyes. 

"Dear,"  she  cried,  "don't  feel  that  way 
about  it.  It's  no  dishonor  for  a  boy  to  go 
wrong  to-day — really  it  isn't.  They,  too, 
are  ignorant.  They,  too,  must  be  taught. 
But  I  had  to  tell  you  on  account  of  the 
dangers.  Those  dangers  can  be  avoided — 
a  simple  matter " 

But  she  got  no  further  that  day.  Just 
then  the  Doctor  came  in,  in  his  white  of 
fice  coat,  and  the  two  jumped  up  like  guilty 
children. 


WILD  OATS  135 

"H'm,"  growled  the  Doctor,  "con 
spiracy?" 

Nell  said  laughingly: 

"It's  Edith,  dear!" 

He  shook  her  hand  listlessly. 

"Goodness,"  he  muttered,  stretching  his 
arms  out,  "I'm  sick  and  tired!  Nell,  I 
thought  that  bunch  of  aches  and  pains 
would  never  quit." 

"My  poor,  poor  man!"  murmured  Nell. 

"Oh,"  cried  the  Doctor,  "I'm  sick  of  it 
all!  Drat  it!" 

The  wild-rose  was  shocked,  and  the  Doc 
tor  laughed. 

"Well,  Edith,"  he  muttered,  trying  hard 
to  be  less  tired,  "where's  the  man?" 

"Away." 

But  the  Doctor  was  too  tired;  he  sat 
down  on  a  chair. 

"I'd  better  go,"  said  Edith. 

"But  you  must  come  in  a  day  or  two," 
cried  Nell  eagerly,  "remember,  there  is 
something  I  must  tell  you!" 

They  kissed  each  other;  Davy  submitted 
a  cheek;  the  Doctor  nodded  his  head,  and 


136  WILD  OATS 

the  wild-rose  wandered  home  through  the 
late  day. 

A  tumult  of  new  passions  possessed  her 
all  the  evening  and  deep  into  the  night. 
Facts  are  aggressive.  They  leap  up  at  us, 
sting  us,  batter  a  breach,  drive  into  the 
mind,  tear  old  beliefs  to  tatters,  root  them 
selves,  throw  up  defenses,  and  so  become 
part  of  our  lives.  Edith  felt  her  old  life 
slipping  away  from  her;  the  vision  of  the 
world  changed;  she  was  no  more  what  she 
had  been.  She  could  not  be  a  young  girl 
any  more.  She  went  through  the  birth- 
throes  of  womanhood. 

She  began  to  see  that  marriage  is  not  the 
end  of  life,  but  rather  the  beginning  of  a 
new  life;  that  she  was  called  upon  to  shoul 
der  vast  responsibilities;  that  it  was  more 
than  a  matter  of  love ;  it  was  life-work.  She 
must  prepare  herself  for  pain  and  stubborn 
struggle  and  obstinate  difficulties.  She  sat 
that  night  looking  into  the  vastness  of  life. 
Torn  away  was  the  enchantment.  This  was 
serious  business;  this  was  life  and  death. 

And  yet  far  within  her  there  was  a 
strange  sense  of  joy — the  feeling  that  she 


WILD  OATS  137 

was  no  longer  to  be  shut  out  from  the  com 
mon  experiences  of  mankind.  It  is  no 
blessing  to  be  ignorantly  innocent;  such  a 
state  is  shallow;  the  very  terror  of  the  deep 
crises  of  life  have  a  wonder  in  them  no  real 
man  or  woman  would  forego.  Each  wants 
life  to  the  full,  the  bitter  and  the  sweet, 
the  fire  as  well  as  the  light. 

Many  such  thoughts  surged  dimly  or 
clearly  through  her  mind,  and  mixed  with 
them  were  strange  new  passions  concern 
ing  the  man  who  was  to  be  her  husband. 
The  intimate  relationships  to  be  frightened 
her;  and  now,  in  the  light  of  her  new 
knowledge  he  loomed  a  different  man.  She 
thought  she  had  known  him;  she  had  not. 
He  was  a  power  that  would  work  on  all 
her  life;  he  was  a  stranger.  Nell  had 
spoken  of  dangers  to  be  avoided.  What 
danger  could  there  be?  How  could  Frank 
be  dangerous? 

Common  sense  came  back  and  laughed  at 
the  notion.  Dear  Frank!  Did  he  not  trulv 

j 

love  her;  did  she  not  love  him?  That  was 
enough.  Where  then  was  the  danger? 
Frank  was  true  as  steel;  and  how  he  had 


138  WILD  OATS 

changed.  Ever  was  he  getting  gentler  and 
nobler — more  attentive,  more  kind  and  lov 
ing.  He  would  do  anything  for  her.  Such 
a  man  dangerous? 

And  then  the  last  few  months  came  up 
again,  the  lightning  bolt  that  spring  night 
in  the  Playground  Park;  the  golden  eighty 
days;  the  first  kiss  in  the  sound  of  the  sea; 
the  sweet  tenderness;  his  letters.  Instinct 
told  her  that  all  was  well. 

"Nevertheless,"  said  the  wise  little  wild- 
rose,  uhe  and  I  shall  have  a  candid  talk!" 

Blessings  on  the  wild-rose! 

She  was  beginning  to  breathe  happily 
again,  and  snuggle  up  in  her  soft  night 
gown,  inviting  sleep,  when  a  strange  noise 
stirred  her.  It  was  her  mother  gasping. 

"Mother!"  she  cried,  sitting  up,  "Moth 
er!" 

The  cry  rang  sharp  from  her  heart.  Her 
mother  tried  to  rise,  fell  back,  gasped, 
choked. 

"Mother!"  cried  Edith  frantically, 
clutching  her  hand. 

Then,  at  last  her  mother  spoke: 

"All  right!  all  right!    Get  the  Doctor!" 


WILD  OATS  ,139 

"Oh,  but  are  you  sure  you're  all  right!" 

"Ya,  ya — run  and  get  the  Doctor!" 

Edith  bolted  from  bed,  groped  out  and 
out,  trembling  with  fear,  found  a  match, 
struck  it  and  lit  a  small  light.  She  leaned 
over  her  mother,  and  saw  her  purple  face, 
the  rolling  eyes.  She  felt  as  if  the  sight 
would  drive  her  crazy.  She  was  utterly 
alone;  so  helpless.  Then  she  flung  open 
the  door  to  the  adjoining  room,  and  cried : 

"Sam!    Marc!     Sam!" 

But  the  room  was  empty.  The  brothers 
were  still  out. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  muttered. 
"What  shall  I  do?" 

And,  at  once,  her  mind  cleared;  she  was 
calm  and  self-possessed,  though  blackness 
showered  upon  her.  She  dressed  quickly, 
took  a  last  look  at  her  mother,  stole  down 
the  black  halls,  and  then  went  winging  her 
way  through  the  deserted  streets. 

Fear  speeded  her.  She  brought  up  pant 
ing  at  Doctor  Rast's  and  rang  the  night-bell. 
After  what  seemed  a  long  time,  the  Doctor 
opened  the  door  on  a  crack. 

"Yes?" 


1 40  WILD  OATS 

"Come  over  to  my  mother — quick!" 

"I  will!" 

The  door  shut. 

She  sped  back;  she  climbed  the  black 
steps;  she  burst  into  the  room.  Her 
mother  was  still  a  haggard  sight,  but 
breathed  easily. 

"Mother!    Tell  me!"  cried  Edith. 

"I'm— I'm  a  little  better !    Thank  you !" 

Edith  sank  on  her  knees,  head  in  the 
covers. 

"Oh,  Mother,"  she  sobbed,  "Mother! 
Mother!" 

The  Doctor  found  her  still  sobbing. 

Gently  he  lifted  her,  and  helped  her  to 
a  chair,  and  then  bent  above  the  patient. 

"Mrs.  Kroll!" 

The  mother  opened  her  eyes,  and  then 
smiled  wonderfully. 

"Ach,  Doctor!    Good  Doctor!" 

"Yes,  yes!— Pain?" 

She  sighed: 

"It  does  not  matter  now!" 

He  examined  her,  and  then  turned  and 
looked  at  Edith.  Poor  wild- rose!  Black- 


WILD  OATS  141 

ness  shot  his  heart,  and  pity,  and  love.  He 
touched  Edith  on  the  shoulder. 

"Edith  1" 

She  arose,  sobbing. 

"Come,"  he  whispered  tenderly,  "come 
in  the  parlor." 

She  groped  her  way  blindly,  her  hand 
feeling  out.  The  dim  light  of  the  room  fol 
lowed  them.  Silence,  the  infinite  silence 
of  a  sleeping  city  lay  about  them;  deep 
ened  now  by  the  strange  hush  of  sickness. 
The  Doctor  stood  over  the  girl,  and  waited. 

Then  she  murmured,  on  a  strangling  sob  : 

"Yes—  Doctor." 

"Edith,"  he  spoke  very  gently,  very 
slowly,  "I  am  going  to  trust  to  you." 


"I  am  going  to  ask  courage  and  help.  I 
need  you  to-night." 

He  waited. 

"Yes  -  "  she  cried. 

All  his  heart  went  out  to  her;  she  was  so 
young  for  sorrow.  He  spoke  in  a  voice  pure 
with  pity: 

"Edith,  your  mother  is  very,  very  sick." 


142  WILD  OATS 

"Oh,  I  know" — a  wild  sob  escaped— 
"don't  you  think  I  know?" 

She  sobbed  bitterly.  And  what  could  he 
do  but  help  her  to  a  chair  and  wish  she 
were  his  own  child  that  he  might  enfold 
her  and  comfort  her? 

"Listen,"  he  said  hurriedly,  "I  am  going 
to  send  a  nurse  in  the  morning.  We  will 
take  good  care  of  the  Mother,  Edith — we 
will  do  all  we  can  for  her — we  will  make 
the  pain  little  as  possible.  Edith,  to-night 
you  must  nurse  her — to-night  you  must  go 
on  being  brave  and  strong.  You  were  brave 
to  come  for  me.  Be  brave  still.  Don't  cry, 
Edith." 

Her  sobbing  slowed  and  died.  She 
wiped  her  face,  rubbed  her  eyes.  She  arose 
full  of  gentleness  and  thoughtfulness. 

"That's  over,"  she  said.  "I'll  do  any 
thing,  Doctor  Rast." 

He  pressed  her  tear-wet  hand  with  both 
of  his. 

"Fight  the  good  fight!"  he  said,  and 
quickly  he  gave  her  directions. 

While  they  were  talking,  there  was  a 
noise  at  the  kitchen  door. 


WILD  OATS  143 

"My  brothers!"  said  Edith.  "Quick- 
they  must  be  quiet!" 

She  hurried  into  the  dark  kitchen,  fol 
lowed  by  the  Doctor.  The  sleeping-room 
light  fell  dimly,  and  in  that  light  the  broth 
ers  stood  bewildered. 

"What's  the  matter,  Sis?    Mutter?" 

"Ssh!"  she  said,  "Mother's  very,  very 
sick." 

The  brothers  stood  stupid  and  staring. 

Doctor  Rast  spoke  quietly: 

"We  will  get  a  nurse  for  her  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  Edith  will  take  care  of  her  to 
night.  One  of  you  come  for  me  if  any 
thing  happens.  And  be  very  quiet.  She 
must  not  be  disturbed." 

Sam  spoke  roughly: 

"I  could  stay  with  Mother,  Sis.  You  get 
some  sleep." 

Strange  were  the  words  on  his  lips. 

Edith  spoke  gently: 

"No,  Sam.  You  and  Marc  get  your  rest. 
You  must  work  to-morrow,  and  I  can  sleep 
in  the  morning." 

Marc  tried  his  best,  too. 


144  WILD  OATS 

"If  you  want  anything,  Sis,  why — call  on 


me." 


A  great  crisis  faced  the  three  and  drew 
them  closer  together.  The  Doctor  spoke  a 
last  word  of  courage  and  went.  The  broth 
ers  tiptoed  to  their  room,  and  went  to  bed 
in  silence.  Edith  sat  by  her  mother. 

Long  was  the  night.  Time  and  again 
she  glanced  at  her  mother's  face,  and 
though  she  had  never  had  a  God  she  cre 
ated  one  this  night,  and  prayed  to  Him  for 
her  mother's  life.  No  answer  came  through 
the  still  air.  Earth  beneath  her  rolled 
through  the  empty  star-surrounded  heav 
ens,  bearing  its  precious  cargo  of  life.  Out 
of  the  earth's  side  new  life  emerged,  old 
life  vanished,  an  ebb  and  flow  of  the  vital 
tides.  In  how  many  other  rooms  of  the 
planet  sprang  the  new  cry  of  babes  and  the 
last  cry  of  the  dying.  Swift  indeed  was 
the  unfolding  of  this  young  girl,  through 
first  love,  through  deeper  knowledge,  and 
now  through  tragedy.  Life  deepened  about 
her  this  night,  fraught  with  a  reality  never 
before  suspected. 

And  as  she  gazed  in  the  old  face,  its  red 


WILD  OATS  145 

and  yellow  engulfed  eyes,  its  lines  chiseled 
by  the  struggles  and  the  joys  and  the  dreams 
of  years,  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  read  there 
the  book  of  her  mother's  life.  How  clearly 
was  love  and  pain  written  there!  And  this 
was  her  own  mother! 

Then,  like  the  cut  of  a  knife  in  her 
heart,  for  the  first  time  she  realized  a  stu 
pendous  fact.  She  could  hardly  breathe 
for  the  wonder  and  terror  of  it.  She — she 
herself  had  once  lain  curled  under  this 
woman's  heart.  She  was  flesh  of  this  flesh, 
bone  of  this  bone,  soul  of  this  soul.  And 
after  she  emerged  in  the  world,  a  separate 
body,  what  if  she  were  still  in  the  mother 
— in  her  heart,  in  her  soul?  All  these  long 
years  enfolded  and  engulfed  in  mother- 
love!  How  those  worn  hands  had  wrought 
for  her,  those  lips  spoken  for  her,  that  soul 
fought  and  labored  and  endured  for  her! 
Oh,  so  close  she  was  to  her  mother!  Closer, 
closer  than  flesh  of  flesh.  Terrible  and 
miraculous  was  the  tie.  Now  she  knew 
what  "Mother"  meant. 

And  now  if  her  mother  should  be  swept 
away,  sucked  back  by  the  earth,  torn  and 


146  WILD  OATS 

sundered  would  be  this  miraculous  tie. 
She,  Edith,  would  be  alone,  alone  in  this 
world.  What  world?  Even  the  Earth  that 
was  Mother  of  all  life.  Earth — Mother? 
Did  earth  enfold  and  engulf  us  with  love, 
too?  Were  we  flesh  of  her  flesh,  spirit  of 
her  spirit?  Edith  felt  a  new  wonder  fill 
her.  She  was  indeed  finding  God  this 
night.  She  looked  about  the  room  with  a 
curious  interest;  she  listened  to  the  night 
with  an  inner  ear,  and  it  seemed  as  if  in 
these  walls,  these  streets,  this  air  something 
lived,  something  real  and  powerful  and 
wonderful.  Peace  stole  in  her,  deep  peace, 
and  the  great  love,  the  love  that  swallows 
in  its  vastness  the  eddying  dust  of  our  lit 
tle  human  loves,  filled  her.  Her  heart 
opened — opened  out  to  the  invisible — and 
she  was  transfigured  with  an  ineffable 
glory.  .  .  . 

Slow  went  the  hours,  and  though  she 
arose  to  her  mother's  call,  and  fetched  and 
helped  and  nursed,  she  moved  through  tran- 
quility;  she  stirred  with  power.  It  was  the 
unfolding  of  the  deepest  within  her.  And 
how  deep  are  we  within!  How  deeper 


WILD  OATS  147 

than  thought  can  reach!  Power  beneath 
power,  love  beneath  love. 

Morning  came;  timid  gray  light  trem 
bling;  chirp  of  sparrows;  rattle  of  milk- 
wagon;  first  stir  of  feet  on  the  still  pave 
ment;  light  and  more  light;  and  all  the 
world  of  people  woke;  talked,  ate,  went 
forth,  and  the  great  city  thundered  with 
labor  and  action. 

The  brothers  made  their  low-voiced  in 
quiries;  stood  silent  at  the  foot  of  the  moth 
er's  bed,  and  took  her  gentle  good  morning, 
and  went  out  choking.  The  nurse  came  at 
eight,  a  quiet,  neat  young  woman  with 
glasses,  who  took  charge  with  sweet  cheer. 

"You  run  right  along,"  she  hustled  Edith 
out.  "I  don't  want  any  kids  around.  Curl 
up  and  go  to  sleep!" 

Edith  smiled: 

"But  Mother  may  need  me,  Miss  Roth." 

"Nonsense  and  fiddlesticks!  I'll  teach 
you  a  thing  or  two!  Go  right  to  sleep,  and 
don't  bother  me!" 

Edith  curled  up  on  the  parlor-sofa,  and 
suddenly  the  nurse  tucked  her  up  in  a 
blanket  and  kissed  her. 


148  WILD  OATS 

When  she  awoke  it  was  afternoon ;  warm, 
shining,  drowsy.  Miss  Roth  was  rocking 
to  and  fro.  Edith  sat  up  and  stared  at  her. 

"Well,  child,"  cried  the  nurse,  "am  I  as 
ugly  as  all  that?  The  nerve  of  you!" 

"Oh!"  cried  Edith,  "I  didn't  know." 

"Didn't  know!"  echoed  the  nurse.  "I 
like  that!  Well,  take  a  good  look." 

Edith  laughed  softly,  and  arose. 

"But  Mother "  she  began. 

"Your  mother's  all  right!  You  just  run 
along  and  take  a  bite!  Quick!" 

"I'm  not  hungry 

"What!  Are  you  crossing  me?  Don't 
you  say  another  word,  but  into  the  kitchen 
with  you!" 

Miss  Roth  arose,  eyes  blazing  through 
her  glasses. 

"Out  with  you,  quick!  I'll  teach  these 
children!" 

Edith  laughed,  and  went  out  by  the  hall 
to  the  kitchen.  She  even  tried  to  eat, 
though  she  wanted  nothing.  Then  came  a 
knock  on  the  door,  a  knock  that  sped  a  won 
derful  gladness  through  her.  She  leaped 
up,  flung  the  door  wide. 


WILD  OATS  149 

"Oh,  Frank!"  she  cried  out;  "Frank- 
sweetheart!" 

She  girdled  him  with  her  arms,  clung  to 
him,  clung  to  him.  At  last!  The  man! 
The  strength!  He  stood  silent,  struggling 
with  shame  and  remorse.  She  drew  back  in 
wild  surprise,  and  saw  his  white  face. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "you've  heard!" 

"Heard?"  he  muttered,  "heard  what?" 

"About  Mother!" 

His  voice  was  queer: 

"Your  mother?" 

"How  sick  she  is!" 

"No,"  he  stammered,  "she's — sick?" 

"We  have  a  nurse — she's  very,  very 
sick " 

His  lips  parted;  he  stared  at  her. 

"So  sick?" 

He  gave  a  groan: 

"Edith!    Edith!    Edith!" 

Then  he  clasped  her  to  his  heart,  and 
they  clung  to  one  another. 

"Come,"  she  said  sadly,  for  the  moment 
grew  sweet  to  her,  "come  ?.nd  sit  down  and 
talk  with  me." 

They  sat  together  at  the  table. 


150  WILD  OATS 

"It's  so  good  to  have  you  here,"  she  said 
gravely.  "I  just  need  you,  dear." 

He  patted  her  hand  and  glanced  at  the 
wild-rose  face.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she 
had  changed  since  he  left.  He  felt  younger 
than  she.  She  seemed  so  wise  and  wom 
anly. 

"It's  so  strange,"  she  went  on,  "every 
thing's  so  strange.  But  I've  made  up  my 
mind  to  be  wise  and  brave,  and  not  make  a 
nuisance  of  myself." 

Her  voice  deepened;  her  eyes  rilled. 

"I  never  knew  I  loved  my  mother  so:" 

He  glanced  down;  and  then  her  voice 
came  poignantly  sad: 

"It's  never  been  very  easy  for  her,  Frank. 
And  now— 

There  was  a  deep  silence. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  from  her  heart  of  hearts, 
"I'm  so  glad  you're  here,  dear." 

He  murmured  that  he,  too,  was  glad. 
Again  there  was  a  deep  silence. 

"Frank." 

"Yes." 

"Can't  we  talk  a  little?  I  feel  things  so 
deeply  to-day.  I  want  to  know  you  better. 


WILD  OATS  151 

I  want  to  know  my  husband.  We  mustn't 
hide  anything  from  each  other.  We  must 
be  candid,  dear." 

She  was  speaking  more  like  a  mother 
than  a  wife.  He  was  puzzled  and  disturbed 
and  felt  guilty. 

"Yes,  Edith." 

"May  I  say  things?" 

"Why  not?" 

"Anything  I  want?" 

"Sure — anything." 

"Then  listen." 

She  spoke  very  intimately,  very  sweetly: 

"I've  had  a  good  talk  with  Mrs.  Rast. 
She  told  me  about  marriage—  then  the 

wild-rose  hesitated  and  was  confused;  but 
she  tried  to  go  on,  so  she  looked  away  and 
spoke  in  a  low  voice:  "about  how  babies 
are  born.  .  .  ." 

Frank  was  startled. 

"Yes.    .    .    ." 

"And  other  things,"  Edith  went  on,  still 
looking  away,  "about  men  .  .  .  about 
the  double  standard.  .  .  ." 

His  voice  was  very  queer. 

"Double  standard?" 


152  WILD  OATS 

"Yes  .  .  .  men,"  her  cheeks  burned, 
"going  around  before  they  are  mar 
ried.  .  .  ."  There  was  a  pause.  .  .  . 
"She  said  most  men  did.  .  .  ." 

The  golden-haired  one  arose  before  him, 
and  his  face  flushed.  He  was  shocked  and 
angry. 

"And  the  dangers.  .  .  ."  Edith  went 
on. 

He  withdrew  his  hands.  Edith  turned 
on  him. 

"Oh,  Frank,"  she  cried,  "is  it  true?  Is 
it  true?" 

He  arose  from  the  table  and  spoke  in  a 
blaze  of  anger. 

"Never  speak  of  this  again!  It  ain't  a 
subject  for  you!  What  business  has  that 
woman  .  .  ?  I  tell  vou  women  and 

•/ 

men  are  different!     Don't  you  ever  again 
speak  of  this." 

She,  too,  arose,  a  frightful  pain  in  her 
heart.  She  had  offered  him  her  dearest 
confidence;  she  had  offered  him  her  in 
most  soul:  and  he  had  roughly  spurned  the 
offer.  She  had  sought  bravely  for  a  true 
marriage  of  mind  and  heart,  and  he  had 


WILD  OATS  153 

shrunk  back.  This  was  indeed  a  new 
Frank  before  her. 

She  spoke  in  a  low  voice: 

"You  had  better  go,  Frank." 

"Yes,"  he  cried,  "I'd  better  go!" 

He  seized  up  his  hat,  put  it  on,  and  went 
out.  She  watched  the  door  close. 

Then  she  sat  down  in  a  stupor,  her  eyes 
staring,  her  face  pale.  A  few  moments  be 
fore  she  would  have  forgiven  him  anything 
—no  matter  what  his  past  was.  But  now 
—well,  that  was  over  with!  He  had  come 
into  her  life,  and  gone  out  of  it.  It  must 
be  for  the  best.  She  felt  frozen,  stupid, 
inert.  The  blow  had  stopped  her  heart. 

And  then  the  door  opened  and  Miss  Roth 
came  in. 

"Your  mother  wants  to  speak  to  you." 

"My  mother?  Oh,  my  mother!  Miss 
Roth!" 

She  arose,  groping  out  with  her  hands, 
and  Miss  Roth  drew  her  to  her  heart. 

Edith  laughed  strangely. 

"I  almost  forgot  about  my  mother!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

NIGHT 

MY    Edy,"    murmured    the    mother, 
stroking  the  girl's  hand. 

But  Edith's  frozen  heart  could 
not  feel.  She  had  passed  beyond  all  emo 
tion,  like  one  in  a  trance.  She  whispered: 

"Mother!" 

"I — I  could  want  to  talk  to  you,"  the 
mother  cried  softly,  "I  got  much  to  say 

...     but  I  can't,  Edy." 

"I  understand." 

The  mother's  voice  came  broken  and 
raspy. 

"You  was  always  my  baby.  .  .  .  I  re 
member  the  night  you  was  born,  Edy  .  .  . 
when  your  father,  selig,  saw  it  was  a  little 
girl,  he  cried,  he  was  so  happy.  Two  boys 
was  enough.  .  .  ." 

"Yes,  Mother." 

154 


WILD  OATS  155 

"I'm  so  glad  I  got  you  now,"  the  mother 
went  on,  struggling  for  breath,  "it  makes  it 
not  so  hard  .  .  .  you  always  loved  your 
mother,  Edy.  .  .  ." 

"Always    .    .    .    always.    .    .    ." 

"Ach,  I  know.  No  matter  what  troubles 
I  got  with  Sam  and  Marc,  there  was  never 
any  trouble  with  you.  .  .  .  You  always 
helped  me,  and  made  me  laugh.  .  .  ." 

"I  wish  I  had  been  a  better  girl." 

"Maybe  I  could  have  been  a  better 
mother.  God  knows  .  .  .  but  I  tried  so 
good  I  can  ...  I  worked  and  worked 
to  make  my  children  grow  up  good  and 
happy.  .  .  .  And  it  make  me  proud  all 
over,  you  get  so  beautiful,  Edy.  .  .  ." 

"Yes,  Mother.    .    .    ." 

"Oh,  my  Edy  .  .  ."  she  stroked  the 
hand  softly. 

There  was  a  silence. 

"Is  it  a  nice  day?" 

"Beautiful,  sunny,  warm." 

"Oh,  my  Edy!" 

Deep  was  the  silence  over  mother  and 
daughter.  Then  the  mother  went  on  with 
poignant  sadness: 


156  WILD  OATS 

"I'm  glad  to  live  to  see  you  get  a  good 
man  .  .  .  that's  all  I  wanted  ...  a 
good  man  for  my  Edy  .  .  .  only  I  could 
have  liked  to  see  a  little  new  baby,  a  little 
grandchild,  what  call  me  grand 
mother  .  .  ." 

Edith  could  hardly  speak. 

"Yes,  Mother." 

"Edy." 

"Yes." 

The  voice  was  seriously  sweet  and  inti 
mate: 

"When  you  get  a  baby,  then  you  know 
what  it  is  to  be  a  mother  .  .  .  then  you 
will  know  what  your  mother  was,  and 
maybe  love  her  more  and  more.  .  .  ." 

"I  will." 

There  was  a  deep,  sweet  silence. 

"So  .  .  .  my  throat  is  shut  like  .  .  . 
I  could  hardly  breathe.  .  .  ." 

But  she  laughed  softly. 

"Come  here!" 

The  daughter  leaned  over,  and  the  old 
arms  drew  her  closer  and  closer! 

"Oh,  oh— Edy!    Kiss  me!" 


WILD  OATS  157 

Their  lips  met. 
"My  baby!" 
Edith  slowly  withdrew. 
"So    .    .    .    tell  the  nurse    .    .    .    quick. 
.    .    .    Good-by.    .    .    ." 
"Good-by.    Shall  I  go?" 
"Please,   Edy     .     .     .     tell   the  nurse. 

55 

Edith  stole  from  the  room. 

"Miss  Roth!    Go  to  her!" 

The  nurse  went  in.  Edith  sat  at  the  table 
in  the  kitchen,  wide-eyed,  tearless,  inert. 
Her  face  was  white  as  a  sheet,  her  blue  eyes 
big.  Doctor  Rast  came  in  softly.  Edith 
nodded. 

"How  is  she?" 

"Go  in." 

He  gazed  at  her  a  moment,  and  then  went 
with  hot  haste  to  the  sick-room.  Quiet  hung 
over  the  little  tenement.  The  moments 
throbbed  and  throbbed  as  they  went  their 
way.  No  one  seemed  to  stir.  Earth  and  air 
and  all  souls  seemed  suspended  between 
death  and  life.  Edith  neither  felt  nor 
thought. 


158  WILD  OATS 

And  then,  a  soft  step    .    .    .    the  Doctor. 

"Edith." 

She  rose. 

"Come  in,  Edith." 

She  followed  him.  The  room  was  in  twi 
light.  The  nurse  was  sobbing  out  in  the 
dim  parlor.  The  dark  form  of  the  mother 
lay  on  the  bed. 

Edith  stood  at  the  bedside  looking  down 
at  the  quiet  clay. 

Suddenly  two  boys  groped  their  way  in; 
they  were  muttering  and  babbling  they 
knew  not  what.  Edith  turned  and  saw  her 
brothers.  Her  heart  broke  .  .  .  broke. 

"Sam!"  she  cried;  "Marc!" 

She  rushed  to  them;  all  three  drew  to 
gether;  all  three  sobbed  and  sobbed,  ter 
rible  wrenching  sobs. 

And  then  another  face  appeared,  a  face 
contorted  with  agony. 

"Edith!     Edith!     Edith!" 

She  flew  to  him;  they  flung  their  arms 
round  each  other;  they  sobbed  from  their 
broken  hearts. 


WILD  OATS  159 

"Oh,  Frank,  Frank!" 

"My  darling!" 

The  Doctor,  with  tears  flowing,  mur 
mured: 

"Peace  on  this  house.  The  Mother  is 
dead." 


CHAPTER  X 
MORNING  AGAIN 

DEATH  has  its  by-products,  and  the 
greatest  of  these  is  love.  The  best 
of  human  nature  comes  from  its 
deep  source  to  the  surface;  families  are  re 
united;  people  grow  gentle.  Someone  has 
vanished  from  among  us.  Now  we  know 
her  as  she  truly  was;  the  faults  are  forgot 
ten,  the  dusty  details  lost;  we  see  her  whole 
life  now,  a  great  human  round;  we  see  her 
soul,  miraculous  and  great.  No  one  will 
ever  fill  her  niche.  Something  has  gone 
from  us.  Something  has  gone  out  of  our 
house  and  our  lives. 

Now  the  mystery  of  life  comes  home  to 
us.  Here  is  the  clay  that  once  was  woman. 
Whither  has  gone  the  woman?  And  to  this 
end  each  one  of  us  must  come;  through 
this  strange  change  each  one  of  us  must 
pass.  There  will  come  a  moment,  real  as 
1 60 


WILD  OATS  161 

this  present  moment,  when  each  of  us  will 
meet  the  event.  What  next?  Whither? 
Out  of  life  we  are  born.  Who  shall  say 
that  we  do  not  pass  out  into  life?  Who 
knows  but  what  this  mother  is  real  as  ever, 
the  life  enduring,  the  form  changing?  Who 
knows  but  what  this  air  and  this  room  are 
charged  with  her?  Who  knows  but  what, 
standing  here  at  the  coffin,  we  are  steeped 
in  her? 

Gentle  were  the  brothers  with  Edith; 
full  of  love  and  understanding.  Gentle 
was  Frank,  renewed  and  purified.  Gentle 
and  wholly  forgiving  was  Edith.  Why 
bother  about  dusty  human  problems?  Be 
neath  all  faults  there  was  the  divine.  These 
men  and  this  woman  looked  on  each  other 
now  as  souls — all  human,  all  the  same. 
They  forgot  the  ugly  frailties.  And  so 
Edith  and  Frank  met  heart  to  heart,  soul 
to  soul,  and  were  each  glad  that  the  other 
lived  and  was  near.  In  the  presence  of 
death  all  life  is  holy;  we  understand  that 
the  criminal,  too,  was  a  human  being,  that 
somewhere  in  him  he  carried  about  all  mir 
acles. 


1 62  WILD  OATS 

Mr.  Grupp,  the  good  man,  spoke  a  few 
words  at  the  head  of  the  coffin  the  next 
evening.  The  brothers  and  Frank  and 
Edith  with  bowed  heads  and  open  hearts 
stood  about  him.  He  spoke  simply,  and 
merely  because  the  need  was  great,  as  he 
looked  down  on  the  still  face: 

"She  was  a  good  woman.  Thirty  years 
I've  known  her.  She  worked  hard ;  she  was 
very  kind  to  people.  She  suffered  much. 
Not  for  herself  she  worked.  For  her  chil 
dren,  for  her  husband.  Now  she  is  gone. 
We  shall  never  see  her  any  more.  She 
goes  again  with  her  husband.  She  was  the 
best  friend  I  had.  Always  I  could  come 
here  and  she  was  glad  to  see  me.  Now  she 
will  never  be  here  any  more."  The  tears 
trickled  and  he  let  them  course  without 
shame.  "She  never  thought  of  herself,  but 
always  of  her  girl  and  her  boys.  The  best 
mother  was  she  I  knew.  But  now  she  is 
gone;  she  is  dead.  Dust  to  dust!"  And 
then  he  spoke  fervently  in  Hebrew,  "The 
Lord  giveth,  the  Lord  taketh  away;  blessed 
be  the  name  of  the  Lord!" 

Friends    and    relatives    called;    Frank's 


WILD  OATS  163 

father  and  mother  came,  and  the  little  thin 
woman  took  Edith  to  her  heart.  Zug 
slipped  in,  and  wept  in  a  corner.  Edith 
went  over  to  him: 

"Mr.  Zug,  soon  Frank  and  I  will  marry. 
You  will  call  on  us  then?" 

"God  bless  you!"  said  Zug,  and  went  his 
way  with  handkerchief  to  eyes. 

Nell  came,  too,  for  a  moment,  and  kissed 
Edith,  and  called  her  a  brave  girl. 

And  so  the  two  days  passed  over  the 
darkened  parlor,  and  the  little  group  fol 
lowed  the  body  to  the  City  of  the  Dead; 
ashes  fell  and  flowers;  the  first  spadeful  of 
gravel,  like  hail  on  the  heart;  and  the  sweet 
Earth  closed  over  the  sweet  Earth. 

Then  came  the  first  empty  night,  with  its 
gnawing  pain,  its  sense  of  loss,  its  hollow- 
ness  and  vacancy.  Spite  of  cheerful  talk 
at  supper,  spite  of  gentleness  and  good  hu 
mor,  the  house  was  empty.  The  place  at 
table,  the  void  bedroom,  the  still  parlor, 
all  showed  a  gash  of  loss.  It  was  a  restless 
night  of  heartache.  But  with  morning  the 
world  cried  out  to  youth  again.  Work  had 
to  be  done;  people  met;  hunger  awoke 


1 64  WILD  OATS 

again;  the  blood  took  its  old  stride.  The 
city  roared  on  unconscious  of  a  name  lost 
on  the  roll-call.  The  brothers  went  forth 
to  work;  Frank  sallied  down  Grand  Street; 
and  Edith  was  busy  with  housework.  And 
so  all  of  them  were  sweetly  dustied  up  with 
life  again;  the  work  in  hand  loomed  large; 
one  after  another  the  divine  angels  of  their 
natures  sank  back  into  the  depths;  one  after 
another  the  old  imps  flew  up  and  broke 
loose;  and  human  were  they,  very  human 
again — just  people.  Yet  possibly  a  streak 
of  something  new  remained,  a  new  mellow 
ness  not  quite  lost. 


CHAPTER  XI 

ON    THE    BRIDGE 

OF  a  summer  night,  the  wild-rose  (we 
call  her  that  more  for  what  she 
was,  than  is)  wandered  through  the 
crowded  world  with  Frank.  Both  were  in 
black,  and  made  a  sober  and  grave  couple. 
Edith  took  his  arm  with  a  sweet  trustful 
ness,  and  often  looked  at  him,  meeting  his 
eyes  with  steadfast  gaze.  Wholly  had  she 
given  herself  to  him,  for  she  worried  no 
more  about  theories  or  the  last  changes  of 
girlhood,  but  stepped  down  to  his  level  and 
followed  him  through  his  world.  That 
world  was  a  very  human  world,  and  as  our 
young  couple  really  were  young,  they 
found  it  absorbingly  interesting. 

A  silver  moon  was  aloft  again,  flooding 
the  streets  and  making  pale  glow  of  the 
street-lamps;  again  the  children  ran,  filling 


1 66  WILD  OATS 

the  night  with  laughter;  again  the  corner 
stand  dispensed  green  and  scarlet  liquids; 
again  the  girls  and  boys  stood  in  groups 
chatting,  flirting,  rippling  with  silver  mirth. 
The  old,  old  world!  But  where  was  the 
wild  enchantment?  Where  were  the  En 
chanted  Gardens?  Where  was  the  golden 
air  and  the  delirious  yearning?  Under  this 
moon  had  sprung  the  electric  bolt  that 
flashed  their  lives  into  one.  Under  this 
moon  had  they  been  young  god  and  god 
dess  treading  the  mid-spaces,  winging  the 
mid-heavens.  But  spring  had  deepened 
into  summer;  nature  was  at  her  ripening; 
for  these  two  April  was  gone  forever. 

Yet  how  sweeter  and  simpler  was  July, 
rich  with  moist  roots  in  the  soil,  green  and 
earthy  and  real.  It  was  very  good  to  be 
human  beings  in  this  human  world,  one 
with  its  absorbing  activities,  its  joys  and 
pangs  and  desires.  Each  season  has  its  own 
glory.  How  incomplete  would  the  spring 
be  if  nothing  ripened!  How  good  is  the 
summer  with  its  promise  of  brown  har 
vests! 

And  so  they  wandered  along,  glad  of 


WILD  OATS  167 

each  other,  intimate,  sweetly  close.  Just 
then  they  passed  before  an  ice-cream  saloon, 
brilliant  with  electric  bulbs,  the  Summer 
Night's  Palace  of  the  Poor.  They  paused  a 
moment. 

"I'm  awfully  thirsty,"  said  Edith  laugh 
ingly. 

"Come  in,  then.    I'll  blow  you!" 

"Do  you  think  we  ought?" 

"Ain't  we  thirsty?" 

"Ain't,   Frank?"  laughingly. 

"Shucks!"  he  cried;  "ain't  's  all  rightP' 

So  they  went  in  and  sat  at  the  marble 
counter.  Overhead  whirled  the  electric 
fans,  wafting  gusts  of  hot  air  on  feverish 
faces;  flies  buzzed;  the  counter  was  drip 
ping;  the  dispensers  spirted  syrup,  spooned 
ice-cream  and  sizzled  in  carbonated  waters, 
and  then  set  before  the  thirsty  a  sparkling, 
foamy  drink.  Edith,  glancing  in  the  long 
mirror  before  her,  saw  the  reflection  of 
thirsty,  tired,  drawn  faces,  girls  and  boys, 
men  and  women.  They  were  drowning  in 
oblivion  their  hard  lives  and  the  hot  day. 
Dawn  to  darkness  many  of  them  had 
strained  and  fought  against  weight  and  time 


168  WILD  OATS 

and  machinery  and  human  beings.  They 
were  fagged  and  feverish.  A  mother  with 
a  baby  in  her  lap  was  feeding  ice-cream  to 
the  eager  little  one,  who  kept  crying: 

"More!  more!" 

Edith  laughed  softly. 

"Do  you  see  it?"  she  asked  Frank. 

He  looked  and  smiled. 

"Come,"  she  said  suddenly,  touching  his 
hand,  "I  want  to  walk  with  you,  far  away! 
Away  by  ourselves!  Away  from  every 
thing!"  ' 

They  wandered  down  East  Broadway  to 
Brooklyn  Bridge,  and  then  along  the  foot 
path,  far  out  to  the  high  center.  There 
they  stopped  and  leaned  at  the  rail  and 
peered  out.  Save  for  the  occasional  train 
and  trolley  snaking  by  with  its  glow  of 
gold,  here  was  silence.  On  the  shores  two 
mighty  cities  climbed  twinkling  to  the  hori 
zons,  hills  of  stars.  Overhead,  in  the  dim- 
studded  heavens  rolled  the  glory  of  the 
moon.  Beneath  hurried  the  river,  heaving, 
swaying,  with  a  silver-moonpath.  Golden 
ferries  shuttled  across,  in  zones  of  golden 


WILD  OATS  169 

water.  Tugs  went  puffing  steam,  visible  in 
moonlight,  with  lantern  glistening  gold  or 
red.  On  ferry-slip  the  signal  lamps  were 
lustrous.  It  was  a  wonderfully  beautiful 
night. 

The  two  drew  very  near,  and  gazed  in  si 
lence. 

"Do  you  love  me  as  much  as  you  used 
to?"  whispered  Edith. 

"More,"  he  said. 

"It's  different,  though,"  she  sighed.  A 
woman  regrets  the  slipping  by  of  the  en 
chantment. 

"It's  better,"  said  Frank. 

"Frank!" 

"Yes,  sweetheart!" 

"Do  you  know,"  she  put  an  arm  about 
him,  "you  are  all  I  have  in  this  world 
now?" 

"All?" 

"Yes.  I  depend  so  much  on  you  now," 
she  sighed. 

"I  want  you  to,"  said  he. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "it's  strange  to  be  a 
woman.  I  don't  like  it."  Then  she 


170  WILD  OATS 

laughed    shyly.      "Do    you    know,    if    it 
weren't  for  you,  Frank,  I'd  want  to  be  a 


man!' 


He  snorted  laughter. 

"Why,  that's  clever!"  he  cried.  "Good 
for  you,  Edith!" 

"Do  you  think  I  am  clever — sometimes?" 

"Do  I!"  he  whistled. 

She  was  delighted. 

"Wait  till  we're  married.  Mrs.  Lasser 
will  surprise  the  Mister!"  she  cried.  "Such 
things  I'll  cook  and  sew  and  fix!  And  all 
for  you!" 

"Edith." 

"Yes,  dear." 

"There  are  some  things  I  want  to  tell 
you." 

"Tell  me.    I'm  right  here." 

He  spoke  slowly: 

"I've  saved  up  over  a  hundred  dollars, 
and  my  father  is  going  to  give  me  another 
hundred." 

"Yes,"  she  spoke  breathlessly. 

"You  know,"  he  said  slowly,  "we  can  buy 
furniture  on  instalment." 

"Yes,  Frank." 


WILD  OATS  171 

"I've  thought  we  could  even  get  a  phono 
graph,  too.  You  love  music,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  could  scarcely  speak,  "I  do." 

He  paused;  then,  very  slowly: 

"Don't  you  think  we  could  look  around 
for  three  little  rooms  and  furnish  them?" 

Tears  were  trickling.  She  thought  it 
sweet  of  him  to  be  so  thoughtful ;  and  then, 
the  sudden  reality  of  their  own  home  was 
too  much  for  a  heart  greatly  tried  these 
last  few  weeks.  She  turned  to  him. 

"Oh,  Frank,  our  own  home  .  .  .  our 
marriage.  .  .  ." 

"Wait,  Edith,"  he  said,  and  took  her  two 
hands  and  looked  in  her  face.  "There's 
been  something  I've  wanted  to  say  .  .  . 
wanted  to  say  since  our  talk  that  afternoon 
.  .  .  before  your  mother  died  .  .  .  you 
remember?" 

Did  she  remember?  What  else  so  viv 
idly? 

"Yes,"  she  said  breathlessly. 

"Edith,"  he  spoke  in  a  new  manly  way, 
"I'm  going  to  be  your  husband.  You  must 
trust  me.  You  must  believe  in  me." 

"I  do    ...    I  do,"  she  whispered. 


172  WILD  OATS 

"That  woman,"  he  went  on,  "probably 
meant  well,  but  women  don't  know  any 
thing  about  all  this.  They  get  a  notion  in 
their  head  and  then  simply  make  mischief. 
She's  just  made  you  unhappy.  Now  I  want 
you  to  do  one  thing,  Edith." 

"Yes    .    .    ." 

"I  want  you  to  drop  this — never  speak  of 
it  again.  For  I'm  to  be  your  husband,  and 
you  must  trust  to  me." 

There  was  a  deep  silence;  soft  came  the 
sea-smell  from  the  moon-stirring  waters. 

"Will  you,  Edith?" 

"Frank,"  she  whispered,  "I  will!  For  I 
know  I  should  love  you  in  spite  of  any 
thing." 

At  that  moment,  curiously,  she  stood  so 
strongly  by  Frank,  that  she  turned  against 
Nell  with  a  sense  of  resentment,  and  re 
solved  to  bother  no  more  with  fine  words. 

"Edith!"  he  cried;  "Edith!" 

"Frank!" 

They  clung  together,  closer,  and  with 
tender  passion.  Their  lips  met.  He 
crushed  her  in  his  arms.  And  then,  like 


WILD  OATS  173 

flame  leaping,  their  bodies  cried  for  each 
other. 

"Good  God!"  he  cried.  "We  must  get 
married,  Edith!" 

"Yes,"  she  spoke  with  a  sharp  intake  of 
breath,  "we  must  get  married!" 

They  released  each  other;  they  did  not 
dare  stay  in  that  place.  But  back  they  hur 
ried  to  the  crowded  world.  New  life  had 
broken  loose  within  them;  the  mighty 
Power  that  creates  had  bent  them  to  its 
will;  fire  was  in  the  heart,  the  brain,  the 
blood.  Their  time  was  near  at  hand. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE    THREE    ROOMS 

WHAT  is  more  delightful  than  home- 
hunting?  And  more  exhausting? 
You  start  in  early  in  the  morn 
ing  full  of  adventurous  daring;  you  wind 
up  at  twilight,  dazed  and  drooping. 
Twenty  flats  tangle  your  brain.  Every 
time  Edith  saw  a  to-let  sign  she  ran  Frank 
up  any  number  of  flights  of  stairs.  But 
nothing  pleased  both.  These  rooms  were 
too  dark;  those  too  costly;  these  other  in  a 
bad  neighborhood.  Finally  Edith  sug 
gested  that  they  follow  the  migration  north 
ward  and  settle  in  the  Bronx. 

Then  came  long  car-rides  and  dashes  into 
unexplored  territory.  Here  was  light  and 
air  and  quiet,  but  not  the  rich  highly-col 
ored  life  of  the  Ghetto,  not  the  flow  of  hu 
manity,  the  brilliance  of  packed  streets. 

174 


WILD  OATS  175 

Rather  rawness,  newness,  and  a  brightly- 
polished  squalor.  Edith  was  for  light  and 
air,  thinking  of  little  children.  The  East 
Side  was  no  place  for  babies,  for  they  died 
there  one  out  of  three.  Frank  was  for  the 
rich  life,  the  excitement,  and  the  familiar 
haunts. 

Nevertheless,  one  Sunday  morning,  when 
they  stood  in  a  bright  sunny  parlor  on  the 
fourth  floor,  up  in  the  iSo's — with  just  a 
hint  of  nearby  park  through  the  window — 
they  both  felt  in  a  flash  that  this  was  theirs. 

The  janitor  stood  rubbing  his  hands,  and 
surveying  grimly  the  handsome  pair. 

"Well,  lady  and  gentleman,  you  couldn't 
do  better  for  the  money  in  New  York. 
Look  at  that  steamheat  radiator.  It's  no 
fake.  And  them  chandeliers — cost  ten 
plunks  apiece.  And  this  here  bath-room — 
open  plumbing.  Take  my  tip  and  grab  it. 
There  was  a  party  in  only  an  hour  ago, 
highly  pleased — coming  back  in  an  hour, 
and  take  it  sure  as  fate.  You  take  my  tip 
and  don't  let  it  go!" 

Edith  flushed  with  excitement. 

"Some  one  else  wants  it?" 


176  WILD  OATS 

"Ah,  say,"  laughed  Frank,  "that's  an  old 

gag." 

The  janitor  was  very  indignant. 

"Don't  believe  it,  eh?  All  right.  But 
don't  you  grumble  if  it's  snatched  under 
your  nose." 

Edith's  eyes  sparkled.  She  whispered  to 
Frank. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"What  do  you?" 

"What?    Frank,  it's  just  what  I  want!" 

"Sure?" 

"Just  look  at  it — and  look  out  that  win 
dow.  And  with  a  park  near!  Oh,  it's  beau 
tiful!" 

"All  right,"  cried  Frank,  "I'm  game. 
Here  goes." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  cried 
Edith. 

"Take  it!" 

"Really?"    Her  eyes  grew  wide. 

"Yes,  really!" 

"You're  sure?" 

Frank  turned  to  the  janitor. 

"We'll  take  it!" 

"That's  speaking  English,  young  man! 


WILD  OATS  177 

Now,  looky  here — rent's  twelve  per.  That 
means  a  deposit  down." 

"How  much?" 

"Three  dollars." 

Frank  drew  out  three  dollars,  and  the 
janitor  gave  him  a  receipt.  The  young 
couple  were  red  with  excitement. 

"Now  it's  ours!"  cried  Edith. 

"Yes,  sweetheart,  our  home!" 

"Home!" 

And  surely  it  was  a  glorious  moment. 
They  surveyed  every  nook  and  corner;  they 
measured  the  floors;  they  planned  the  furni 
ture.  They  gazed  on  the  little  place  with 
loving  pride. 

A  week  followed  crowded  with  quick 
events.  There  were  kitchen  utensils,  linens, 
odds  and  ends,  and  the  furniture  to  get. 
Edith's  brain  grew  acute.  A  hundred  dor 
mant  housewife  powers  sprang  into  life. 
Frank  was  delighted  with  the  little  woman. 
And  finally  one  morning  they  stood  in  it, 
and  it  shone  round  them  stocked  with  goods. 

Sunlight  streamed  in  on  them.  They  had 
found  their  cranny  in  the  stormy  world, 
their  little  cave.  Here  would  they  live  to- 


178  WILD  OATS 

gether,  and  who  knew  what  sweet  life 
would  laugh  in  their  sunny  home?  The 
sacredness  of  Home,  the  glory  of  that  habi 
tation  which  is  the  refuge  and  nursery  of 
the  race,  lifted  them  again  to  the  miracu 
lous  heights. 

"Oh,"  cried  Edith,  her  eyes  sparkling 
with  tears,  "this  is  lovelier  than  I 
dreamed!" 

"It's  ours,  sweetheart,"  said  Frank,  "and 
it  would  be  beautiful  no  matter  what  it 
was!" 

And  so  their  little  home  stood  ready! 
They  fixed  their  marriage-day  for  two 
weeks  later.  Perhaps  some  of  the  wild  en 
chantment  came  back  to  them,  perhaps  out 
of  their  fresh  memories  sprang  the  old 
golden  air,  for  their  pulses  chimed  with 
ecstasy,  their  blood  sang  hymns  in  the  white 
morning  and  in  the  starry  night.  The  gates 
of  life  stood  within  reach  of  hands;  two 
weeks,  and  they  would  fling  open  on  the 
rich  landscape  of  married  life.  Toward 
this,  they  knew  now,  the  last  few  months 
had  been  speeding  them.  Closer  and  closer 


WILD  OATS  179 

had  the  souls  grown,  and  now  rapidly  they 
were  being  woven  into  one  another,  to  go 
braiding  down  the  happy  years.  The  wild- 
rose  wore  a  touch  of  color  in  her  black; 
youth  blew  its  buds  again  in  her  cheeks; 
her  eyes  shed  the  fair  light  of  girlish  days; 
she  was  all  radiance,  grace  again.  Frank 
seemed  more  manly,  stronger,  nobler.  He 
was  very  considerate,  very  thoughtful.  He 
made  many  good  resolves.  He  knew  of  old 
that  before  a  man  marries  he  should  be  ex 
amined  by  a  physician,  and,  though  he  was 
practically  well,  with  but  the  traces  of  an 
old  trouble,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  see 
Doctor  Rast.  That  would  please  Edith,  if 
later  she  came  to  know  of  it.  Finally  he 
told  Edith  she  was  tired  and  needed  a  rest, 
and  as  he  could  not  get  off  for  a  honey 
moon,  she  must  spend  a  week  away  before 
the  marriage.  Edith  laughed  at  him,  but 
he  persisted,  so  anxiously,  so  ardently,  that 
more  to  please  him  (she  would  do  any 
thing  to  please  him)  she  packed  up  and  ran 
off  to  the  mountains. 

In  the  train,  with  people  passing  them 


i8o  WILD  OATS 

up  and  down  the  aisle,  they  embraced  pas 
sionately. 

"I  don't  want  to  go !"  cried  Edith ;  "I  was 
so  happy!" 

"Hush!"  he  said.  "Then  how  much 
more  happy  we  will  be  to  have  each 
other!" 

"You'll  still  love  me?    Surely?" 

"Love  you!" 

"And  you'll  miss  me?" 

"Every  moment!" 

"And  write  every  day?" 

"Every  day!" 

He  felt  her  arms  about  him  tight,  tight 
— he  felt  the  pressure  of  her  lips — he  felt 
her  hair  caressing  his  forehead — all  her 
presence  went  swimming  through  him.  He 
could  not  let  her  go.  And  then  came  the 
cry  of  "All  aboard!" 

"Good-by!" 

"Good-by,  good-by!    Oh,  sweetheart!" 

"Good-by!" 

He  ran  down  the  moving  car  and  turned 
and  waved  his  hand;  she  waved  her  hand 
kerchief.  And  then  he  was  gone  and  she 
was  gone. 


WILD  OATS  181 

One  week!  one  week,  sweet  Edith!  Go 
your  way,  wild-rose!  Soon  the  last  touch 
of  girlishness  will  vanish,  and  the  great 
years  begin. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WILD  OATS 

OMINOUS  thunder-clouds  rolled 
over  the  city.  Supper  was  over 
and  the  late  light  was  vanishing 
yellow  in  all  directions.  It  had  been  the 
sultriest  day  of  the  summer.  In  the  gasp 
ing  humid  air  death  fell  broadcast  over  the 
city — touching  the  puny  tenement  babies, 
slaying  the  horses  in  the  baking  gutter, 
everywhere  striking  the  weak.  Seventeen 
cases  of  sunstroke  were  listed  in  the  evening 
papers.  Four  million  people  were  held  as 
by  hands  in  a  moist  oven,  and  were  tortured 
alive.  All  the  city  cried  out  for  relief — 
everywhere  the  prayer  went  up  for  rain. 

And  now  as  Doctor  Rast  sat  at  the  win 
dow  in  his  shirtsleeves  and  as  Nell  list 
lessly  tried  to  sew,  the  flying  yellow  light 
was  in  the  street,  people  struggled  dimly 
182 


WILD  OATS  183 

through  it,  and  there  were  muffled  mutter- 
ings  of  thunder  in  the  distance. 

"Are  you  getting  any  air  there?"  asked 
the  Doctor. 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right!"  She  put  down  her 
sewing.  "But  don't  you  think  we  ought 
to  bring  Davy  in  here?  It's  too  hot  in  the 
bedroom." 

"Cooler  there  than  here,"  muttered  the 
Doctor.  "Is  he  asleep?" 

"Yes."  Nell  smiled  as  mentally  she  saw 
him.  "Fast  asleep,  poor  boy.  The  day 
half-killed  him!" 

The  Doctor  sighed. 

"Nell,  think  of  all  the  miserable  wretches 
in  the  city  to-night.  The  poor,  the  poor! 
The  bad  milk,  the  stenchant  smothering 
tenements,  the  dead  babies!  Think  of  all 
the  misery,  all  the  misery  and  pain  of  this 
strange  world.  Why  is  it?  Why  is  it?" 

Nell  said  nothing,  but  thought  of  green 
hills  and  cool-waved  ocean,  and  her  little 
son  caught  in  the  stone  city.  Sharply  then, 
making  the  room  vivid,  came  a  flash  of 
lightning  followed  by  a  crash  as  of  the 
house  collapsing.  Nell  leaped  up. 


184  WILD  OATS 

"Davy'll  wake!  He'll  be  terribly  fright 
ened!" 

She  hurried  out  into  the  shadows  of  the 
inner  rooms. 

The  Doctor  sat  back,  full  of  a  bitter 
mood.  It  seemed  as  if  Nature  were  ready 
to  utterly  crush  her  children  to-night.  All 
day  she  had  drained  them  of  strength  and 
heart;  now  she  was  venomous  and  wrath 
ful,  and  loosened  down  upon  them.  A 
shape  passed  in  the  street  the  Doctor 
thought  he  knew  and  a  moment  later  there 
was  a  knock  on  the  door.  The  Doctor  had 
not  the  heart  to  put  on  his  coat.  He  arose 
anxiously,  stepped  to  the  door  and  flung 
it  open.  Frank  stood  before  him. 

"Who  is  it?    Frank  Lasser?" 

"Yes,  Doctor." 

"Come  in — there's  nothing  the  matter?" 

"Oh,  nothing — nothing  much!" 

He  followed  the  Doctor  in.  Neither 
cared  much  for  the  other;  it  was  a  bad 
evening;  and  Frank,  besides,  was  lonely. 
For  the  wild-rose  was  on  the  mountain  pas 
tures — infinities  away. 

The  Doctor  moodily  pushed  an  armchair 


WILD  OATS  185 

next  the  desk,  and  Frank  sank  into  it.  Then 
the  Doctor  lit  the  light  low,  and  sat  down. 

"How's  Edith?" 

"Edith?"  Frank  spoke  with  a  touch  of 
feeling.  "She's  away,  Doctor — off  in  the 
mountains  for  a  week.  I'm  glad  of  it — this 
weather." 

"Yes,"  the  Doctor  muttered,  "it's  a  bad 
day  for  people." 

Frank  cleared  his  throat.  He  found  dif 
ficulty  in  beginning.  He  spoke  in  a  low 
voice : 

"Doctor." 

"Yes." 

"I  thought  I'd  drop  in " 

"That's  all  right." 

"About  myself." 

"Yourself?    Under  the  weather?" 

"Well,"  Frank  laughed  strangely,  "not 
exactly.  You  see  wre're  to  be  married  in  a 
little  over  a  week." 

The  Doctor  leaned  near,  and  spoke  ten 
derly: 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it — I'm  really  glad  to 
hear  it.  It'll  make  her  happy.  I'm  might 
ily  glad,  Lasser." 


1 86  WILD  OATS 

There  was  a  pause;  Frank  gathered  his 
courage. 

"Doctor." 

"Yes." 

"I've  been  told  a  man  ought  to  be  looked 
over  before  he's  married." 

"Right!" 

"Well "  he  paused,  "I  know  it  ain't 

your  office  hours — but  could  you  now?" 

"Of  course!  of  course!" 

He  arose  and  deliberately  locked  the 
door,  closed  the  shutters,  and  turned  the 
light  higher. 

A  little  while  later,  Frank,  leaning  for 
ward  in  his  chair,  watched  the  Doctor  peer 
ing  with  wrinkled  face  into  the  microscope. 
There  was  a  flash  of  lightning  bursting  even 
through  the  shutters  and  a  dreadful  boom 
ing  of  thunder.  The  Doctor  felt  the  light 
ning  in  his  heart.  He  thought  of  the  wild- 
rose;  he  thought  of  this  young  man  before 
him.  For  some  time  he  could  not  speak.  It 
seemed  too  awful. 

Then  Frank  burst  out: 

"Well,  Doc." 


WILD  OATS  187 

The  Doctor  looked  up  and  spoke  under 
his  breath: 

"You've  had  your  fun,  Lasser,  haven't 
you?" 

"Yes,"  Frank  tried  to  speak  lightly,  "I've 
sown  my  wild  oats.  I've  gone  around  with 
the  boys  a  bit." 

The  Doctor  leaned  close. 

"When  did  you  first  get  this?" 

"Oh,  about  four  years  ago — a  woman  out 
West." 

"Who  treated  you?" 

"Some  old  chap — read  his  ad  in  the 
paper.  Claimed  I  was  cured  for  life." 

The  Doctor's  voice  cut  sharp  and  awful, 
a  knife  of  keen  pain. 

"Lasser,  he  never  cured  you." 

Frank  could  not  believe  his  ears;  he  felt 
a  great  hand  smiting  him  down. 

"Never  cured  me?"  he  echoed;  then  an 
ger  swept  him.  "That's  rot." 

The  Doctor  leaned  closer  and  spoke 
slowly,  tapping  the  table: 

"You  are  going  to  take  my  word  in  this. 
This  thing  has  run  on  and  on — it's  become 
chronic.  You  were  never  cured." 


1 88  WILD  OATS 

There  was  a  silence;  now  the  wild  rain 
was  rattling  on  pave  and  window. 

"Lasser,"  said  the  Doctor,  "you  will  have 
to  be  treated  again!" 

Frank  clutched  the  arms  of  his  chair;  his 
heart  seemed  to  stop  short;  his  face  was 
white. 

"You  mean,"  his  voice  was  hollow  and 
strange,  "I've  got  to  be  doped  five  or  six 
weeks  again?" 

"I'm  afraid  it  will  be  more  than  that" 

"More  than  that?" 

"It  may  take  months " 

"Take  months?" 

"Lasser,  I'll  tell  you — you've  got  to  know 
the  whole  truth.  I  can't  set  any  time  limit 
It  might  run  on  a  year." 

Frank  gave  a  loud  cry: 

"A  year?" 

He  half  rose  in  his  chair: 

"My  God — this  horrible  thing — this 
shame — But  it's  nonsense!" 

The  Doctor  gently  pushed  him  down  : 

"You  look  this  thing  in  the  face,  Lasser!" 

Frank  sat  back,  trembling.  Oh,  the  sweet 
wild-rose!  the  dreams!  the  gates  of  happi- 


WILD  OATS  189 

ness!  The  Doctor,  too,  thought  of  Edith. 
His  eyes  grew  dim;  he  leaned  near;  he 
could  barely  speak  the  cruel  truth,  the  kill 
ing  truth. 

"You  know  what  it  means?" 

"What?"  groaned  Frank. 

"It  means,"  the  Doctor  spoke  as  if  one 
word  at  a  time,  "that  until  you  are  abso 
lutely  cured — you  cannot  marry." 

Frank  sat  forward,  face  contorted,  lips 
twisted. 

"You  tell  me  why." 

In  the  rattle  of  rain,  the  white  of  light 
ning  and  the  crash  of  thunder,  he  heard  the 
doom  of  the  wild-rose.  Her  last  kiss  was 
still  on  his  lips;  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  said  the  Doctor,  speaking 
as  a  father  who  had  to  hurt  his  son,  "be 
cause  of  Edith — Yes,  even  if  you  seem  per 
fectly  well — all  her  life  she  may  be  an  in 
valid — a  broken  woman — or  even  worse. 
And  then  the  children — your  children, 
Edith's  children — possibly  she  may  not  be 
able  to  have  any,  or  if  she  has,"  he  paused, 
his  voice  was  tragic,  "they  may  become 
blind.  That,"  he  cried,  "is  what  comes  of 


190  WILD  OATS 

sowing  wild  oats.  The  harvest  is  ruined  in 
nocents,  ruined  women  and  children." 

Frank  could  not  breathe  or  think;  his 
brain  seemed  stunned.  The  world  was  wild 
now,  and  lunatic. 

uYou  mean  to  say "  he  broke  off  and 

was  silent. 

A  fearful  roll  of  thunder  shook  the  room. 
Frank  gave  a  loud  cry  again;  he  had  to  de 
fend  the  deathless  Past. 

"Why — why — I  only  did  what  they  all 
do " 

'Wo/  all!"  put  in  the  Doctor. 

"Then  they  do  something  as  bad." 

"Not  all  of  them!" 

"Then  they're  not  human." 

"Perhaps." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  the  Doctor  spoke 
in  a  far-away  voice: 

"The  young  men — they  think  they  have 
to — they  think  it's  a  physical  necessity.  It's 
not — the  double  standard  is  a  lie,  a  lie!" 

The  young  man  was  caught  in  a  trap ; 
and  so,  a  wild  anger  came  to  his  rescue. 
He  struck  the  desk  with  his  fist: 

"Why,  it's  crazy — it's  rot — a  little  thing 


WILD  OATS  191 

like  that — why,  I'm  all  right — I'm  practi 
cally  well — I  know  lots  of  men  who  get 
married- 
He  stopped,  face  fearfully  haggard,  his 
body  wet  with  sweat. 

There  was  a  stifling  silence,  through 
which  rain  poured,  lightning  flashed,  thun 
der  rolled.  The  city  was  in  the  clutch  of  a 
mighty  storm.  And  then  the  Doctor,  look 
ing  on  this  broken  young  man,  and  think 
ing  again  of  the  wild-rose,  felt  his  heart 
twisted  with  pain  and  pity.  He  smiled 
sadly,  leaned,  and  quietly  took  Frank's  hand 
in  both  of  his. 

"Frank." 

uYes,  Doctor." 

"For  Edith's  sake" — his  voice  broke — 
"you  are  going  to  face  this  terrible  thing." 

Frank  said  nothing. 

"For  I  know  that  you  do  not  want  to  be 
as  other  men — go  on  sowing  wild  oats — and 
ruin  that  sweet  girl.  Would  you  do  that  to 
her  you  love — love  so  deeply?" 

Frank  looked  away. 

"Think  of  her — so  wildly  sweet,  so  pure, 
so  fresh.  She  ought  to  be  happy,  have  her 


192  WILD  OATS 

own  home,  her  little  children,  and  the  good 
health  that  fills  the  day  with  joy." 

The  Doctor  told  Frank  nothing  new; 
with  his  own  eyes  he  saw  the  wild-rose;  in 
his  own  heart  he  held  her,  held  her  and  her 
very  life.  Edith!  And  then  the  Doctor 
went  on  quietly: 

"And  if  you  and  EdW  *iad  a  little  child 
— your  own  child — a  little  living  human 
being — your  own  baby — shall  it  go  through 
life  blind?  Did  you  ever  see  little  blind 
children — so  utterly  pathetic,  so  lost  in 
darkness,  groping  and  reaching  and  trying 
to  play?  The  world  is  full  of  such  chil 
dren.  Shall  your  child  be  that  way?  Shall 
it?  ...  Frank?" 

Frank's  head  sank.  The  Doctor  went  on 
tenderly: 

"I'm  telling  you  the  whole  truth — cand 
idly,  brutally — because  there  is  enough  suf 
fering  and  sorrow  in  this  world,  because 
enough  women  are  going  through  this  mo 
ment  in  pain,  because  of  her,  Frank.  Do 
you  want  to  make  the  world  darker  and  un- 
happier?  Is  that  the  way  you  love  Edith?" 

Frank's  head  sank  on  his  arm  on   the 


WILD  OATS  193 

desk.  There  came  from  him  a  low,  tear 
ing  cry: 

"Doctor." 

The  Doctor  was  silent  a  moment. 

"Yes,  Frank." 

"Doctor— -Doc/or/" 

"Yes— Frank." 

"I  can't  stand  it — I  can't  stand  itl" 

There  was  a  silence  again.  Then  sud 
denly  the  last  few  months  swept  like  a  vi 
sion  through  Frank's  heart.  He  raised  his 
flushed  face  and  clenched  his  fist. 

"She's  been  making  a  decent  fellow  of 
me — I  was  rotten  before,  rotten — she's 
making  something  of  me — I'm  all  changed 
— and  she — if  you  knew  how  she  loves  me. 
Oh,  I  never  knew  any  one  could  love  like 
that!  God,  and  she's  so  happy,  you  never 
saw  a  girl  like  it" — he  suddenly  gave  a 
cry — "our  three  little  rooms,  our  home — 
Doctor!" 

The  Doctor  leaned  forward  and  spoke  in 
a  queer  voice: 

"Your  three  little  rooms?  Have  you 
taken  a  flat?" 

Frank  put  his  hands  to  his  face: 


194  WILD  OATS 

"It's  all  ready!    Everything's  ready!" 

"You  poor  children,"  murmured  the 
Doctor. 

Then  Frank  lifted  his  face,  and  cried 
hoarsely: 

"Don't  you  see?  Don't  you  understand? 
I  can't  back  out  now!  I  can't  hold  this  up! 
Everybody  knows  it — we've  told  all.  What 
excuse  could  I  give?  What  reason?  What 
can  I  tell  Edith?  Good  God,  do  you  think 
I  could  tell  her  this?  She's  a  sweet,  pure 
girl " 

"I  think,"  said  the  Doctor  slowly,  "she 
would  understand.  Women  understand 
where  babies  are  involved." 

Frank  blazed  with  anger: 

"Don't  you  speak  of  telling  her!  I  won't 
stand  for  it!"  And  then  his  voice  went 
wild  again:  "Just  ask  her  to  wait?  to  wait 
and  wait?  It  will  break  her  heart.  And 
all  for  what?  Because  I'm  human,  because 
I'm  human!  Oh!" 

His  head  sank  down.  The  Doctor  put 
an  arm  about  him  and  drew  him  close. 

"Frank" — his  voice  was  pure  with  its 
tenderness,  its  compassion — "I  know.  Life 


WILD  OATS  195 

is  a  real  danger,  strong  as  dynamite,  sharp 
as  a  knife-blade — if  we  play  with  it,  and 
that's  what  sin  is,  we  are  apt  to  be  blown 
to  pieces  or  slashed  and  stabbed.  The 
world  isn't  a  stage  and  all  the  men  and 
women  merely  players — real  blood  flows, 
real  torture  tears  the  heart,  real  hearts 
break,  real  death  annihilates  us.  And  only 
a  real  man  can  grapple  with  this  real  life. 
Are  you  a  real  man,  Frank?" 

There  was  a  silence  again.  And  then 
Frank  broke  away  from  the  Doctor  and 
rose  and  clenched  his  fist.  His  eyes  had  a 
dash  of  wildness  in  them,  his  face  trembled 
with  passion. 

"You  want  to  break  Edith's  heart — why, 
just  when  she  is  so  happy  and  I  so  changed 
—to  have  a  thing  like  this  happen.  I'll  not 
bear  it.  I  don't  believe  it.  I'm  well— 
don't  I  feel  all  right?  There's  nothing  the 
matter  with  me!  I  bet  some  other  doc 
tor It's  a  matter  of  luck,  anyway,  and 

I've  been  lucky,  I'm  always  lucky.  Why, 
no  one  could  get  married  if  this  were  so. 
It's  tommy  rot,  it's  womanish.  A  man  must 
go  ahead,  he  must  risk  something " 


196  WILD  OATS 

"Yes,"  the  Doctor  broke  in  quietly. 
"Himself.  But  are  you  going  to  risk  Edith, 
and  Edith's  children?" 

Frank  came  close  to  him  and  all  the 
frenzy  of  his  passion  poured  with  his  voice : 

"But  I'm  crazy  for  her — I  must  have 
her!" 

The  Doctor  suddenly  arose,  a  pain  of  hot 
anger  in  his  heart.  He  seized  Frank  by 
the  arm  and  looked  in  his  face: 

"You  dare  to  speak  like  that,  Frank?  I 
tell  you  you're  an  irresponsible  boy  yet — 
you've  been  playing,  you're  a  pleasure- 
seeker;  you  don't  know  what  life  means. 
You  don't  know  anything  about  pain  and 
sorrow.  You  haven't  suffered  enough  yet. 
You  don't  understand  women — women  who 
bear  the  burden  of  this  world,  the  common 
est  in  the  street  suffering  pangs  a  man  can't 
dream  of,  who  make  men  of  us,  and  men  of 
little  children,  who  give  themselves  to  us 
soul  and  body.  And  you  would  take  a  pure 
woman  and  basely  defile  her,  spoil  her 
body,  and  darken  her  days  and  nights! 
Frank,  I  tell  you  you're  a  boy  yet!  Crazy 


WILD  OATS  197 

for  her!  You  must  have  her!  You  shall 
not  have  her,  not  yet!  It  would  be  better 
if  you  went  down  to  the  river  to-night  and 
threw  yourself  in!" 

Frank  stared  at  him,  his  face  pale. 

"How  will  you  stop  me?"  he  asked 
hoarsely. 

"How  stop  you?"  the  Doctor  spoke 
sharply.  "I'll  have  Nell  speak  to  Edith." 

"Speak— to— Edith?" 

"Yes,  Frank,  she  shall!" 

Frank's  voice  rose. 

"I'm  your  patient — you're  sworn  as  a 
doctor  not  to  tell  your  patient's  secret — 
you're  sworn  to  it.  I  know  what  I  know!" 

The  Doctor  looked  at  him  strangely. 

"Frank,"  he  murmured  slowly,  "there 
are  times  for  breaking  even  oaths." 

He  dropped  Frank's  arm  and  paced  up 
and  down  the  room.  Wild  was  the  storm, 
shaking  the  room,  dashing  the  panes  with 
rain.  Frank  sank  into  the  chair,  crumpled 
up  in  it.  His  face  was  fearfully  white  and 
looked  frightened.  He  kept  wetting  his 
lips  together. 


198  WILD  OATS 

The  Doctor  took  his  seat  again;  his  face 
was  full  of  trouble ;  he  gave  Frank  a  search 
ing  glance;  he  spoke  very  low. 

"Frank." 

"What  you  want?" 

"Frank,"  he  seized  the  young  man's  hand 
again,  "you're  in  trouble,  in  deep  waters. 
Let's  be  sensible.  Let's  see  this  thing  with 
both  eyes.  You  say  that  this  love  for  Edith 
—this  deep,  great  love  for  a  sweet,  true 
girl — has  been  making  a  man  of  you,  a 
woman  of  her.  Then  it  hasn't  been  wasted; 
it's  worth  while  even  to  love — and  lose. 
But  you  won't  lose.  Go  away.  Leave  her; 
go  traveling  again.  Go  for  a  long  while. 
And  this  great  love  will  go  on  working  in 
your  lives — you  will  be  all  the  better  for 
it,  all  the  nobler  and  happier,  knowing  that 
you  have  sacrificed,  sacrificed  for  her.  And 
then,  Frank,  when  the  time  comes,  you  can 
offer  her  a  true  and  a  good  man  and  be  as 
happy  as  you  dream.  You  know  Edith  will 
wait  for  you — gladly,  gladly!" 

But  Frank  cried  out  sharply: 

"It  can't  be  done!  It's  too  late!  What 
if  you  were  engaged — if  you  were  just  at 


WILD  OATS  199 

the  gates  of  your  happiness — if  you  had 
waited  and  waited  for  this — if  you  loved 
as  Edith  and  I  love — if  everyone  knew — if 
your  home  was  all  ready — could  you  break 
it  off?  Could  you  wait?  Talk's  cheap. 
But,  think,  it's  the  happiest  time  of  our  life 
— such  a  time  will  never  come  for  Edith 
again.  Oh,"  he  moaned,  "it  will  break  her 
heart." 

"Yes,"  the  Doctor  went  on  softly,  "but  if 
you  marry  her  now,  Frank,  and  troubles 
come  thick  and  fast  upon  you,  and  the  first 
bloom  of  love  fades  off,  and  everything  be 
comes  commonplace,  and  your  wife  is  com 
plaining  and  sickly,  and  there  is  a  sick  or  a 
blind  child,  will  you  be  so  crazy  for  her 
then?  Will  she  be  so  happy  then?  You 
don't  know  what  marriage  means,  how 
much  it  demands  from  a  man  and  a  woman, 
what  sacrifices,  what  service,  what  unself 
ishness.  And  then  when  you  realize  that  the 
fault  is  yours,  and  that  it  is  too  late  to  mend 
it — that  you  have  only  made  the  world 
darker  for  your  living  in  it,  and  visited 
your  sins  on  your  children  and  on  your 
wife,  then  you  will  wonder,  Frank,  why 


200  WILD  OATS 

you  ever  dreamed  of  marrying.  Don't  talk 
to  me  of  too  late  and  everyone  knowing  it 
and  the  shame.  It's  not  too  late  to  save 
Edith  and  Edith's  children.  That's  the  only 
thing  to  think  of.  Come,  you'll  give  Edith 
up  now;  you'll  go  away." 

Frank  arose;  his  face  struggled;  he 
gulped  as  if  he  were  strangling,  and  the 
Doctor  standing,  thinking  again  of  the 
wild-rose,  gripped  the  boy's  arms: 

"Frank— Frank— tell  me!" 

"I  can't  stand  it,"  said  Frank.  "I  love 
her  so." 

The  Doctor  leaned  close  to  the  boy. 

"Love  her  more  then — love  her  enough 
to  save  her — save  her  from  youl" 

Frank  said  nothing. 

"Will  you?    Yes  or  no?" 

And  then  Frank  cried: 

"Give  me  time  to  think.  This  has  all 
come  so  of  a  sudden."  Then  suddenly  he 
burst  out:  "It's  too  late — it's  impossible — 
I'm  well" — and  then  he  smiled  haggardly 
and  added — "give  me  time,  Doctor." 

The  Doctor  smiled  sadly: 


WILD  OATS  201 

"Take  your  own  time,  Frank.  Gol  Now 
you're  all  right!" 

Frank  steadied  himself,  he  was  reeling 
like  a  drunkard.  The  Doctor,  at  the  door, 
leaned  low: 

"I  only  want  you  children  happy.  Edith 
is  one  of  the  loveliest  I  know." 

Frank  nodded  his  head,  gulped,  the  Doc 
tor  patted  him  on  the  back,  and  then  shut 
him  out  in  the  storm.  He  dashed  into 
lightning. 

Then  the  Doctor  unlocked  the  other  door 
and  went  back  to  his  desk  and  sat  chin  on 
palm.  His  mind  seemed  to  deepen  down 
into  the  very  springs  and  subterranean  cur 
rents  of  life,  all  the  mysteries  of  existence 
closed  over  him  like  storm  and  heat.  He 
felt  himself  mixed  in  with  a  world  of  much 
agony  and  strife,  and  all  was  so  real  that  it 
sent  a  pain  into  the  recesses  of  his  heart. 
And  then  he  thought  of  the  wild-rose,  and 
all  the  wild-roses  of  this  world,  so  early 
blighted,  the  sweet  possibilities  unfulfilled. 
Truly  the  tragedy  of  this  Earth  is  the 
wasted  possibilities! 


202  WILD  OATS 

Nell  opened  the  door  and  came  in  carry 
ing  Davy  in  her  arms.  The  little  fellow, 
in  his  nightdrawers,  was  staring  curiously 
and  was  wide  awake.  He  pointed  to  his 
father. 

"Thunder,  daddy!"  he  cried. 

The  Doctor  looked  up  with  blinded  eyes. 

"Why,  Morris,"  Nell  exclaimed,  "you 
look  like  the  end  of  the  world!" 

"Nell,"  he  muttered,  "the  misery  and 
pain  of  this  world !  I'm  sorry  for  poor  peo 
ple,  and  I'm  sorry  for  sick  little  children, 
and  I'm  sorry,  sorriest  for  the  women.  It 
seems  as  if  they  always  had  the  raw  end  of 
the  deal!" 

The  storm  drowned  his  voice. 


CHAPTER  XIV, 

THE    WH  IRLWIND 

FRANK  plunged  wildly  into  the  night, 
and  rushed  he  knew  not  where. 
Without  umbrella  or  coat,  with 
straw  hat  jammed  down  over  his  forehead, 
with  jacket  flapping  in  the  wind  and  head 
bent  low,  and  fists  clenched,  he  flew  through 
the  empty  streets  like  a  Fury,  alone  with 
the  storm.  For  miles  he  flew,  callous  to  the 
rain  that  soaked  and  drenched  him,  that 
splashed  his  face  and  closed  his  eyes.  The 
whole  city  huddled  under  the  loosened  ele 
ments,  but  this  human  being  laughed  at  the 
might  of  the  heavens.  What  if  the  light 
ning  struck  him  down?  He  himself  was 
death  flying  through  the  city. 

Death!     Death  of  all  things!    Death  of 
all  that  made  life.    What  is  life  without  the 
things  dearest  to  us?    What  is  life  without 
203 


204  WILD  OATS 

love  or  hope  or  joy  or  vision?  Mockery 
of  the  Fates!  They  drive  a  free  man  into 
sweet  bondage,  and  then  rob  him  of  the 
sweet.  The  bondage  remains;  the  prisoner 
writhes  and  struggles  in  the  coils;  he  can 
not  escape;  he  is  alone;  he  cries  out;  he 
lifts  his  hands;  the  heavens?  They  send 
lightning  and  storm  upon  him,  beat  him 
down,  ruin  him. 

When  the  mad  passion  of  sex-love  seizes 
a  man,  has  he  not  for  the  time  a  sweet  in 
sanity?  He  cannot  see  things  sensibly;  he 
cannot  reason.  This  night  he  must  have 
the  woman!  To  wait  a  day  even  is  tor 
ture  unendurable.  The  moments  separate; 
each  one  is  a  trial  and  a  durance.  Wait  for 
Edith?  Wait  months?  WTait  years?  As 
well  never  marry,  as  well  die  at  once. 

What  a  world!  At  first  a  playground; 
then  a  pleasure  palace;  then  an  Enchanted 
Garden — but  now?  Even  as  the  lightning 
revealed  vivid  stretches  of  avenue,  so  the 
world  stood  naked  this  night.  A  mad  hell 
of  struggling  souls,  whipped  by  the  whirl 
wind,  stung  and  lashed  by  a  rain  of  fire, 
split  through  the  heart  by  the  lightnings 


WILD  OATS  205 

of  pain  and  hate  and  failure,  drowned  in 
the  mocking  thunder!  Could  there  be  a 
god  in  such  a  mad-house?  No — save  a  mad 
God,  a  merciless  God,  a  divine  cynic  play 
ing  with  puppets. 

What  had  he  done  that  he  merited  this? 
Had  he  not  gone  the  way  of  the  world? 
Had  he  not  followed  the  teachings  of  the 
street?  Had  he  not  been  ignorant?  To 
punish  ignorance  is  to  punish  innocence. 
How  can  we  help  what  we  don't  know? 
No  one  had  ever  taught  him,  no  one  warned 
him.  Why,  they  had  patted  him  on  the 
back  and  told  him  to  go  out  and  be  a  man. 
They  had  told  him  that  until  he  had  made 
the  rounds  he  had  not  reached  manhood. 
And  so  he  had  gone. 

Women  of  old  arose  and  danced  through 
the  night  at  his  side.  The  golden-haired 
one  was  there,  laughing  like  a  waterfall, 
loosing  her  harsh,  sweet  music.  These  had 
taught  him  life,  these  had  taught  him 
Woman. 

Why,  it  was  wildly  absurd.  The  Doctor 
was  wrong.  Men  like  the  Doctor  are  fanat 
ics.  They  go  too  far.  And  they  are  ig- 


206  WILD  OATS 

norant.    What  do  they  know  of  the  world? 

Was  he  sick?  Did  he  carry  a  peril  in 
his  body?  Was  he  a  danger?  Mad!  mad! 
who  could  believe  such  a  thing!  Wouldn't 
he  feel  pain  if  there  was  a  real  trouble? 
Wouldn't  he  be  weak  and  crippled?  He 
knew.  He  had  been  through  it  long  ago. 
He  was  all  right.  He  was  well  and  strong. 

Who  can  go  against  Nature?  It  was  Na 
ture  all  these  years  that  had  driven  him 
into  vice.  Who  can  go  against  her?  And 
what  is  natural  is  right.  Now  Nature  was 
driving  him  into  marriage;  Nature  with 
her  fatal  hands  was  drawing  a  man  and 
woman  together;  they  had  to  serve  her  pur 
poses;  they  could  not  resist;  they  could  not 
push  off  a  finger;  slowly,  surely,  inevitably 
closer  and  closer  they  came.  Now  they 
were  at  the  very  verge  of  marriage.  What 
could  stop  them?  Who  could  go  against 
Nature?  And  what  is  natural  is  right. 

Came  a  vivid  vision  of  the  three  little 
rooms,  the  new  furniture,  the  sunlight 
streaming  on  Edith's  head.  Oh,  the  over 
running  happiness!  Oh,  the  cup  trembling 
at  the  very  lips!  The  gates,  the  golden 


WILD  OATS  207 

gates  of  happiness  within  reach  of  the  hand ! 

Edith  had  said: 

"I  didn't  dream  it  would  be  so  lovely." 

He  had  answered: 

"It's  ours — it  would  be  beautiful  no  mat 
ter  what  it  was!" 

He  felt  the  pressure  of  her  lips,  the  pas 
sionate  hug  of  her  arms  in  the  train.  Again 
those  last  wild  words — the  good-by. 

She  had  cried  in  his  ear: 

"I  don't  want  to  go  away!  I  was  so 
happy!" 

"Hush!"  he  had  said;  "think  of  how 
much  happier  we  will  be  to  have  each 
other!" 

"You'll  still  love  me?    Surely?" 

"Love  you!" 

"And  you'll  miss  me?" 

"Every  moment!" 

"And  write  every  day?" 

"Every  day!" 

Oh,  the  wild-rose,  the  sweet  face,  the 
trust  in  him.  She  was  coming  back  in  a 
week;  they  were  to  be  married;  they  were 
to  go  into  the  little  home;  their  home. 
Every  evening  he  would  come  home  to  her; 


208  WILD  OATS 

they  would  sit  opposite  at  table;  their  lives 
would  be  woven  and  woven  into  one  an 
other,  and  go  trailing  beautifully  down  the 
years.  Who  could  stop  them?  Who  could 
withhold  the  glory  promised?  Who  would 
hold  the  wild  cup  to  their  lips  and  then 
dash  it  to  the  ground  as  they  reached  trem 
bling  to  taste  of  it? 

But  now?  Hideous  was  the  world!  Hid 
den  in  it  were  poisons  and  death-dealing 
drugs.  Terrors  lurked  behind  the  beautiful 
face  of  Nature.  Under  the  skin  lay  earth 
quake  and  volcano.  Hideous! 

He  was  caught  in  a  trap.  He  had  ig- 
norantly  sown  the  wind,  and  now  the  whirl 
wind  was  sweeping  him  to  ruin.  But  not 
only  him.  The  wild-rose!  The  wild-rose 
torn  from  the  sunny  soil  and  blown  away 
into  the  dark,  deathly  gorge. 

"This  will  kill  her,"  he  cried.  "This  will 
kill  her!" 

He  had  no  excuse  to  offer  her.  Tell  her 
the  truth?  Never!  She  would  shrink 
from  him,  as  from  a  thiag  tainted.  She 
would  shudder  in  his  presence,  a  girl  so 


WILD  OATS  209 

pure  and  sweet  and  innocent.  She  would 
learn  to  hate  him.  That  would  end  all. 

He  racked  his  brain.  What  could  he  tell 
her?  Had  he  lost  his  position?  He  could 
get  another.  Was  he  sick?  That  was  ab 
surd;  she  knew  he  was  well.  Could  he 
withhold  the  reason,  and  tell  her  to  trust 
to  him?  She  would  demand  the  truth;  she 
would  think  he  had  ceased  to  love  her. 
What  reason  was  there  after  taking  the  lit 
tle  home  and  furnishing  it? 

"Go  to  her,"  cried  his  heart;  "go  to  her, 
and  trust  to  your  instincts  to  explain!" 

Wild  advice!  He  knew  that  if  he  saw 
her  face,  that  if  he  touched  her  lips  with 
his,  that  if  once  her  arms  were  about  him, 
all  was  lost.  He  had  not  the  strength  to 
look  on  her  and  depart. 

The  Doctor's  words  flew  back  to  his 
mind.  He  tried  to  shut  them  out.  They 
persisted  in  coming.  They  stormed  upon 
him,  they  cried  out,  they  were  heard — 
heard  loudly.  Edith  an  invalid — Edith  a 
broken  woman — and  the  baby! 

Could  it  be  blind — their  baby?     Hor- 


210  WILD  OATS 

rible!  That  surely  would  break  Edith's 
heart!  Come!  he  must  be  a  man!  He  must 
swallow  the  bitter  medicine!  How  dared 
he  think  of  passion? 

So  then — it  was  all  over!  He  would 
tell  Edith — and  Edith  would  plead  with 
him  to  tell  all.  And  all  he  couldn't  tell. 
That  would  break  it  all  up.  Yes,  he  must 
renounce  Edith.  He  must  release  her  ut 
terly.  He  must  go  his  own. way.  This 
then  is  the  end  of  the  wild  enchantment  and 
the  golden  days!  This  is  the  end  of  it. 

He  saw  the  black  and  bitter  years  ahead 
— he  saw  Edith  growing  old  alone,  her  love 
for  him  turned  to  hate,  her  dreams  shat 
tered — a  withered  and  dried  single  woman! 
He  saw  himself  plunging  again  into  vice, 
drowning  his  sorrow — a  long,  empty,  cyn 
ical  life. 

Impossible!    Why  must  this  be? 

Because  a  fanatic  had  told  him  he  was  a 
peril.  It  was  a  lie!  a  lie!  He  knew  better. 
There  was  Julius  Neuman,  he  remembered, 
who  had  had  the  same  trouble  and  married. 
Why,  he  had  three  children — three  lusty 


WILD  OATS  211 

children — and  his  wife  was  strong  and 
happy. 

Frank  laughed.  The  Doctor  was  crazy! 
He  was  making  a  mountain  of  a  mole-hill. 
Who  can  go  against  Nature?  Nature  is  al 
ways  right.  Go  with  her,  not  against  her. 

Laughing  harshly  he  turned  homeward. 
He  thought  he  had  solved  the  trouble.  He 
thought  it  was  all  over. 

But  then  with  redoubled  fury  the  whirl 
wind  awoke  again.  Try  as  he  would  he 
could  not  drown  out  the  downright  sense 
of  the  Doctor.  His  mind  told  him  that  he 
didn't  know  all  about  Julius  Neuman.  His 
mind  told  him  that  the  Doctor  handled  such 
facts  every  day,  and  knew. 

Wild  was  his  heart  again!  He  saw  the 
wild-rose  torn  and  trampled  in  the  mud. 
He  saw  his  own  life  crashing  about  him. 
But  he  had  to  have  her;  he  was  crazy  for 
her.  Waiting  even  a  week  was  nearly  un 
endurable. 

He  clenched  his  fists  again;  he  raged; 
he  drove  like  a  demon.  Vivid  lightnings 
struck  open  the  heavens  and  tore  night  out 


212  WILD  OATS 

of  the  streets ;  thunder  boomed  through  the 
rushing  air.  Up  the  stairs  of  the  Henry 
Street  tenement  he  dashed,  flung  open  the 
door  of  his  home,  and  slammed  it  to. 

His  mother  cried  out: 

"Frank?    Is  it  you?" 

He  did  not  answer.  He  slammed  the 
door  of  his  own  room.  He  sat  down  on  the 
bed  in  the  blackness.  Water  poured  from 
him,  splashing  the  floor.  He  was  almost 
insane.  He  could  not  bear  the  fire  in  his 
breast,  the  fever  on  his  forehead  and 
cheeks. 

"Good  God!"  he  cried  hoarsely.  "Good 
God!" 

The  door  opened  gently;  someone  en 
tered. 

"O  God!  God!"  he  cried;  "I'm  going 
crazy!" 

A  gentle  hand  touched  him;  a  gentle 
voice  spoke: 

"Frank." 

He  did  not  answer. 

"Has  something  happened  to  Edith?" 

He  laughed  harshly.  His  mother  began 
to  cry,  with  soft  sobs : 


WILD  OATS  213 

"Frank,  Frank!" 

She  drew  his  head  to  her  heart,  she 
patted  his  cheek.  Something  broke  down 
within  him ;  he  was  very  weak.  He  did  not 
resist. 

"Oh,  Mother,"  he  moaned,  "what  shall 
I  do?" 

"What  is  it,  Frank?" 

"I  can't  tell  you!" 

They  were  silent.  His  mother  stooped 
and  kissed  him. 

"Do  what  is  right,  dear.  My  poor  boy! 
my  poor  boy!" 

She  was  gone.  He  grew  calm,  as  in  a 
trance.  He  arose  and  lit  the  gas;  sat  down 
at  his  little  table,  and  took  pen  and  paper. 

"My  darling,"  he  began  writing,  "never 
doubt  that  I  love  you  with  my  very  soul, 
and  would  rather  die  than  harm  you.  We 
cannot  marry  yet.  You  mustn't  ask  for  the 
reason — I  am  not  allowed  to  tell.  You 
must  trust  to  me — trust  absolutely.  Per 
haps  it  will  only  be  for  a  short  time " 

He  paused,  pen  in  air.  He  saw  the  wild- 
rose  reading  these  strange  words;  he  saw 
her  pale,  perhaps  swooning  away.  It  was 


214  WILD  OATS 

like  stabbing  her  with  a  knife.  No,  no,  no! 
Darling  Edith!  He  could  not  hurt  her! 
He  could  not  harm  her! 

"No,"  he  said  quietly,  "I  will  go  to  her. 
She  is  wise  and  good.  I  will  tell  her  like  a 
child;  she  will  forgive  me  like  a  mother!" 

Long  and  long  he  lay,  even  until  the 
dawn  broke  white  and  clear — lay  in  a 
strange  peace;  knowing  that  Edith  was  wise 
and  good. 

And  that  next  day  he  took  train  and  went 
to  her,  with  forewarning  of  a  telegram. 
She  met  him  at  the  station — and  how  brown 
she  was — how  beautiful  with  the  sun  and 
the  wind!  How  fresh  and  girlish  again! 
She  was  wildly  happy.  He  had  come,  she 
knew,  because  he  could  not  stay  away  from 
her.  Glorious  was  that  evening.  He  could 
not  bring  himself  to  break  into  her  wonder 
ful  happiness.  Calm  and  quiet,  he  let  her 
walk  him  under  the  stars. 

And  then  that  night  she  whispered: 

"Let's  climb  the  mountain  in  the  morn 
ing!  See  the  sunrise  from  the  mountain 
top!" 

That  was  his  chance.     Up  there  in  the 


WILD  OATS  215 

clear  dawn  he  could  speak.  So  they 
planned  to  meet  before  the  house  at  four 
in  the  morning,  and  they  parted,  kissing 
passionately,  drowsy  with  the  glory  of  their 
love. 


CHAPTER  XV 

SUNRISE 

THEY  met  in  secret  at  the  pasture 
bars  across  the  road.  In  the  dim 
light  and  still  ecstasy  of  nature 
they  stole  on  each  other  like  ghosts.  And 
then — fresh  dewy  lips,  cool  enwinding 
arms — and  new  enchantment.  They  were 
children  of  the  city,  children  of  noise  and 
stone.  But  here  was  eternal  quiet  and  the 
beauty  that  walks  in  the  heart.  Close  were 
they  at  last  to  Mother  Earth,  and  she  sent 
through  them  her  vital  might  and  drew 
them  passionately  together. 

"Oh,  Frank,  Frank,"  whispered  Edith, 
"we  were  never  so  near  each  other,  so  near, 
so  near!" 

In  that  moment  bliss  overcame  him  and 
he  forgot  all  else. 
"Edith — sweetheart !" 
216 


WILD  OATS  217 

For  long  they  stood  thus,  and  then  si 
lently  went  through  the  pasture  toward  the 
still  woods.  A  sea  of  mist  lay  on  the  ground 
about  them,  a  foot  deep,  and  through  the 
mist  here  and  there,  like  stars,  floated  a 
daisy.  A  ghostly  light  was  everywhere.  A 
waning  moon  stood  over  the  mountain. 
The  air  was  very  pure,  fragrant  with 
Earth,  cool  and  caressing. 

Into  the  wilderness,  along  an  upward 
trail  they  wandered,  Frank  walking  before. 
How  wild!  how  still!  how  deep!  Dawn 
was  not;  only  the  ghostly  light,  only  the 
waning  moon.  They  picked  their  way  over 
dead  logs  and  stones  and  branches;  twigs 
snapped  wet  in  their  faces. 

How  wonderfully  alone  they  were!  In 
the  shadows  about  them  only  a  leaf  here 
and  there  rustled;  they  heard  the  noise  of 
their  own  footsteps.  Fresh  were  the  wood- 
smells,  poignant  with  dew;  and  a  mighty 
expectation  seemed  to  brood  in  the  still  air. 
They  paused  once  to  listen  to  the  plaintive 
call  of  the  wood-owl,  and  then  went  on, 
witchery  stealing  over  their  hearts.  It  was 
too  beautiful  for  words. 


218  WILD  OATS 

Then,  "Listen,"  whispered  Edith. 

It  was  the  fresh  liquid  thunder  of  rush 
ing  water,  shaking  the  air  with  music.  It 
lulled  them  both,  soothing  Frank's  heart. 
He  was  steeped  in  new  miracles;  he  could 
think  of  nothing  else.  Suddenly,  at  a  twist 
of  the  trail  the  mountain  torrent  roared 
beside  them,  a  tumbled  whiteness  under  the 
last  few  stars  of  dawn. 

"Oh,  Edith,"  he  breathed,  clasping  her 
hand. 

They  stood  in  silence. 

But  there  were  no  words  in  the  face  of 
this.  So  they  went  on,  climbed  a  steep 
slope,  and  then  paused,  thrilling  with  gran 
deur.  Empty  space  fell  under  them.  They 
were  at  the  edge  of  a  cliff,  from  which,  at 
their  side,  sprang  a  towering  pine  jutting 
into  the  sky.  Beneath  them  lay  a  wild 
gorge — chaos  and  ruin  of  rocks  and  wild 
vegetation,  the  torrent  leaping  white  here 
and  there.  Far  opposite  arose  the  moun 
tain.  The  waning  moon  peered  under  the 
pine-boughs. 

Enchantingly  wild  was  the  scene,  and  as 
they  stood  hand  in  hand  the  faint  wind  of 


WILD  OATS  219 

dawn  lulled  them;  leaves  rustled;  needles 
fell.  Then  it  was  gone.  But  how  good 
the  smell  of  the  pines  and  the  damp  earth! 
How  still  the  cool  air!  How  wild  the 
scene! 

"Oh,"  whispered  the  wild-rose,  "who 
could  have  dreamed  of  this!  And  that  we 
should  have  it — together!  I  think  my  heart 
would  break  now  if  you  weren't  here!" 

"Edith!" 

Sadness  seized  him.  Was  this  the  last 
morning,  here,  in  the  wilderness,  the  beau 
tiful  wilderness?  Love  smote  him;  he 
wished  he  could  clasp  her,  and  that  in  one 
another's  arms  they  might  hurl  themselves 
to  death  in  the  rocky  gorge. 

"Edith!" 

He  felt  her  arms  about  him  again,  and 
brush  of  dewy-sweet  lips  and  electric 
wafture  of  hair.  They  grew  drowsy  with 
the  glory.  All  the  passion  of  the  Earth 
pulsed  through  them,  all  the  primordeal 
joy  of  creation. 

A  tear,  not  his  own,  ran  down  his  cheek. 

"Sweetheart!"  he  cried,  holding  back  to 
see  her  face.  "So  happy?" 


220  WILD  OATS 

The  wild-rose  could  not  speak.  Her  eyes 
were  shining  at  the  lashes;  two  tears  were 
trickling  down. 

"Tell  me,"  he  whispered. 

"Our  love,"  was  all  she  could  say. 

She  trembled  close  to  him;  a  strange 
shudder  passed  through  them  both  together, 
as  if  all  their  nerves  were  joined  in  one 
body,  an  aching  ecstasy.  Forgotten  was  the 
wilderness  and  the  gorge;  forgotten  all, 
save  this. 

They  turned  away,  faint  with  love. 
Frank  felt  himself  weakening.  He  was 
overcome  with  trembling  beauty.  Onward 
they  went,  crossing  where  the  torrent  ran 
narrow,  climbing  the  mountain  through  the 
pine-forest.  As  upward  they  strove,  aim 
ing  as  toward  some  victory,  some  wild  goal, 
they  could  not  see  the  wrorld  beneath,  but 
only  here  and  there  glimpses  of  the  pale 
sky.  And  then  they  came  to  a  high  slant 
of  weathered  rock,  scaled  it,  and  came  out 
at  the  top  of  a  grassy  clearing,  where,  right 
beyond,  a  blue  mirror  in  the  wilderness,  lay 
a  little  rain-water  lake,  hung  in  mid-heaven, 
circled  writh  pines. 


WILD  OATS  221 

Clasping  hands  the  city-children  gazed 
till  their  eyes  were  dim.  Then  they  turned. 
Wonder  weakened  them.  They  cried  out 
together.  For  the  Earth  was  unrolled  at 
their  feet.  Far  as  eye  could  see  ran  the 
mountain  ranges,  lifting  out  of  valleys  of 
white  mist.  Up  the  high  slant  of  skies  the 
golden  heralds  of  dawn  were  running; 
mighty  blew  the  gale  in  their  faces;  wild 
exhilaration  stung  them.  They  were  alone 
on  the  heights  of  the  world!  They  were 
alone — free! 

But  the  wind  was  cold. 

"Edith!" 

"Oh,  Frank!" 

He  spread  his  coat  out  with  his  right 
arm. 

"Come  in  under!" 

She  nestled  under,  and  he  wrapped  her 
close.  They  stood  as  one,  warmer  for  the 
contact,  and  he  felt  her  living  heart  beat 
ing  at  his  side. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  "I  can't  speak,  Frank! 
I  just  love  and  love  and  love  you!" 

Ecstasy  swept  them.  And  then  their  eyes 
saw  the  miracle  of  the  dawn.  Far  in  the 


222  WILD  OATS 

Eastern  skies  that  flush  of  purple;  far  on 
the  valleys  that  purple  flush.  Swift  on 
horizon,  splendor  of  scarlet  and  bubbling 
yellow.  Vast  overhead  the  lift  and  spread 
of  the  paling  heavens.  And  then  on  the 
Eastern  rim  a  snake  of  fire;  a  riot  of  color; 
a  thrill  as  of  a  curtain  lifting;  flame, 
flame 

"The  sun!"  they  whispered  breathlessly, 
"the  sun!" 

How  could  city-children  know  of  such 
glories?  They  were  gathered  in  the  heart  of 
revelations.  Fire  leaped  from  each  to  each. 
And  lo,  the  mists  were  blown  from  the 
valleys;  the  sky  swam  blue;  voices  ran 
hither  and  yon  in  the  forest;  the  whole 
Earth  seemed  to  shake  itself,  awake,  and 
shout,  and  quiver,  and  laugh.  They  saw 
lakes  lying  silver  among  the  hills;  they  saw 
one  broad  fruitful  valley,  the  dissimilar 
green  of  barley,  wheat,  and  rye-fields; 
barns  and  houses,  smoke  lifting  from  chim 
neys;  straggling  gray  stone-walls.  Far 
away  they  saw  a  dusty  road  and  a  boy  driv 
ing  cows.  Hens  were  in  a  barnyard  about 


WILD  OATS  223 

a  woman  scattering  bran;  a  horse  loped 
lazily  over  a  pasture,  and  then 

"Look!"  cried  Edith. 

A  lonely  eagle  soared  in  the  blue,  lost 
now  and  then  in  the  sun. 

Behind  them  sang  a  bluebird,  pouring 
the  sunrise  into  song. 

He  felt  her  heart  beating  sharply  at  his 
side;  he  saw  the  radiance  and  distinctness 
of  the  Earth;  he  breathed  the  glory-fresh 
ened  air.  He  was  trembling  with  passion. 
Edith's  life  was  gliding  into  his.  It  was 
too  late,  too  late.  .  .  .  She  was  his, 
his.  .  .  . 

And  then  she  stood  free  of  him,  trem 
bling.  He  saw  the  wind  blowing  the  hair 
over  her  forehead,  he  saw  her  eyes  con 
fronting  sunrise  with  sunrise,  the  blowing 
skirts,  the  freshness  and  fragrance  of  the 
wild-rose.  She  was  his  ...  his.  .  .  . 

"Edith!"  he  seized  her  hand. 

"Come  away  from  this,"  she  murmured. 

They  stepped  back  to  the  little  lake  and 
stood  on  the  moist  grassy  ground  facing  the 
waters.  For  some  time  they  were  silent,  as 


224  WILD  OATS 

the  morning  grew.  He  tried  then  to  think 
clearly.  "No,  no,"  cried  his  heart.  "Trust 
to  instinct!  Trust  to  Nature!"  The  sun  rose 
higher;  the  sky  was  of  the  tenderest  blue; 
the  warm  smells  of  Earth  blew  over  them; 
insects  buzzed  and  hummed  in  the  grass ; 
the  bluebird  sang,  and  softly  the  lake- 
water  lapped  on  the  pebbly  shore. 

Suddenly  she  felt  it — the  secret.  Earth 
yearned;  the  sun  like  a  male  embraced  the 
female  Earth;  two  thrushes  fluttered  about 
their  nest  in  the  pine;  two  squirrels  chased 
over  the  ground;  and  now  there  were  two 
eagles  in  the  blue.  It  was  the  sacred  fire 
of  creation,  raimenting  the  Earth  with  new 
life — with  babies  and  fruits  and  cubs — and 
everything  sang  and  dripped  and  ran  and 
sparkled  with  the  glory.  The  two  human 
beings  drew  close  together;  the  man  forgot 
his  message;  forgot  the  world;  he  thought 
only  of  this  woman.  For  this  they  were 
alive;  toward  this  had  they  been  doomed. 
How  could  a  thing  so  sacred  be  wrong? 

He  drew  closer  to  her.  She  was  so  rich 
and  living!  Music  wrapt  them,  creation 


WILD  OATS  225 

stirred  in  them.  They  were  lost  to  all  save 
each  other. 

"Edith." 

"Frank." 

He  took  both  her  hands,  he  drew  her  till 
their  faces  were  close. 

"I  love  you!"  he  whispered. 

She  spoke  tremulously: 

"Will  you  love  me  forever?" 

"Forever." 

"Ever  and  ever?" 

"Forever  and  forever!" 

His  arms  drew  her  closer;  their  lips  met; 
they  cried  out;  they  stood  thus  silent,  mo 
tionless.  The  blue  bent  nearer,  the  birds 
sang,  the  leaves  rustled,  needles  fell  on 
them,  the  lake-water  rippled  dreamily. 
They  were  overcome  with  love,  a  long 
glory. 

Whispered  Edith  at  last: 

"If  you  should   die  now  I   should   die 


now." 


Sacred  was  this  love,  indeed.  He 
groaned  inwardly.  How  could  he  blast  this 
beauty?  And  then  for  a  moment  he  was 


226  WILD  OATS 

in  the  clutch  of  a  wild  struggle.  Tell  her 
he  must;  had  he  not  come  up  for  this;  tell 
her  he  must,  whatever  the  consequences. 
Was  he  so  weak?  Was  he  so  unmanly? 
Was  his  love  so  earthly  a  thing?  The  morn 
ing  began  to  darken  for  him;  he  released 
the  wild-rose;  he  stood  from  her,  gazing 
on  the  grass. 

"Frank,"  she  whispered,  taking  his  hand, 
"what  is  it?" 

"Nothing!"  he  murmured. 

He  felt  it  would  be  better  to  die  than  to 
pour  into  her  ears  the  poison  that  would 
kill  her  happiness.  In  a  few  minutes  their 
love  would  be  shattered,  their  lives  broken. 
He  could  see  her  face  piteous  and  droop 
ing;  he  could  hear  her  wild  cry.  How 
could  he  speak?  Why  had  he  come?  Why 
had  he  not  written?  And  here  she  was,  so 
real,  so  vital,  his  own,  his  own. 

But  you  must  tell  her,  Frank.  Shall  you 
ruin  this  pure  wild-rose?  Shall  all  her 
beauty  go  because  you  are  weak? 

He  moistened  his  lips. 

"Listen,"  he  said,  in  a  strange  voice. 

"I'm  listening,"  she  murmured. 


WILD  OATS  227 

"I  must  tell  you  something." 

"Tell  me." 

The  moment  had  come.  Listen  now, 
wild-rose,  and  try  to  be  wise!  His  tongue 
was  tied,  he  stood  rooted  to  the  ground,  his 
lips  were  parched. 

"Edith!" 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  want  to  ask  you  something." 

"Ask  me." 

Oh,  the  sweetness  of  her,  the  freshness. 

"What — if — what  if — what  if  we  weren't 
married  for  a  while  yet?" 

She  spoke  with  sharp  fright: 

"What  has  happened,  Frank?" 

Could  he  go  on?    He  delayed  the  blow. 

"Why,  nothing,"  he  laughed  strangely. 
"I  only  wanted  to  know." 

"It's  a  strange  question!"  her  voice  grew 
sharp  again.  "Something's  happened, 
Frank.  I  know  it!" 

She  seized  his  arm,  looked  in  his  face. 
That  touch,  that  look  overcame  him.  Na 
ture  cried  out  to  take  her.  These  two  were 
for  one  another.  Far  was  the  city,  far  the 
Doctor;  reason  grew  pale  and  fled;  doubts 


228  WILD  OATS 

vanished.  His  blood  sang  again,;  fire  once 
more  fell  from  the  blue  and  wound  them 
round;  wildness  was  in  them,  wildness  of 
Earth  and  sun. 

"I  only  wanted  to  know,"  he  whispered, 
"because  I — I  couldn't  wait!" 

She  loosed  silver  laughter — utter  joy. 

"Oh,  Frank!  Frank!  I— I  can  hardly 
wait  a  week!" 

He  laughed  happily;  they  stepped  to  the 
cliff.  They  looked  down  on  the  marvelous 
world. 

"All  the  world's  before  us!"  he  laughed. 

"And  all  of  life!"  cried  the  wild-rose. 
"This  is  the  sunrise  of  our  marriage!" 

Wild  joy,  wild  laughter  rilled  them. 
They  were  children  again.  They  raced 
down  through  the  wilderness,  they  drank  of 
the  cool  spring,  making  a  cup  of  Edith's 
hand;  they  played  tag,  red  was  in  their 
cheeks,  and  innocence  gloried  about  them. 
Beautiful  were  they,  and  overflowing  with 
life.  Away  with  dark  thoughts!  Fling  off 
problems  and  theories!  Take  the  cup  and 
drink  of  it! 

And  so  Frank  was  overcome;  and  so  all 


WILD  OATS  229 

darkness  fled  from  his  heart;  and  so  he 
laughed  at  the  Doctor  and  did  not  believe 
him,  and  knew  himself  for  a  well  man.  He 
went  back  to  the  city  that  afternoon;  he 
plunged  into  his  work.  His  mind  was  free. 
He  was  sure  of  himself.  Nature  herself 
had  answered  his  questions. 

The  next  week  they  were  married — Sam 
giving  away  the  bride,  and  Mr.  Grupp  get 
ting  the  second  kiss  by  force. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  PASSING  SEASONS 

WELL,  well,  well,  what  a  world! 
Not  only  are  there  queer  people 
in  it,  but  there  are  also  young 
couples.  They're  enough  to  make  one  sick 
— so  said  Mr.  Grupp — kissing  and  hugging 
and  making  a  show  of  themselves.  Why 
in  the  middle  of  dinner  does  Mr.  Lasser 
deem  it  necessary  to  leap  up  from  his  soup, 
circle  the  table,  and  give  Mrs.  Lasser  one 
on  the  cheek?  Why,  when  company  is  pres 
ent  must  they  needs  be  spooning  on  the 
sofa? 

Sam  and  Marcus  paraded  up  and  down 
the  three  rooms,  chanting: 

"Gee  whiz/    I'm  glad  I'm  free, 
No  wedding  bells  for  me!" 

Said  Sam  to  Frank: 
230 


WILD  OATS  231 

"Come  on  out  with  us  to-night  and  have 
a  good  time!" 

Whereupon  Marc  chanted: 

"I  would  if  I  could,  but  I  can't.  Why? 
Because  I'm  married  now!" 

"I  told  you  not  to  kiss  so  much,"  said  Mr. 
Grupp  from  the  Morris  chair  (on  which 
but  two  instalments  have  been  paid).  "One 
kiss  a  day,  before  and  after!" 

Marc  took  Frank  aside,  and  spoke  se 
cretly: 

"Take  my  advice  and  never  get  married. 
Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  forgot!" 

Mr.  Grupp  gave  the  young  wife  a 
schnelker,  and  she  swept  him  out  of  the 
room  with  a  broom,  a  gale  of  laughter 
blowing  all  about  her.  He  nursed  a  sore 
knee,  groaning,  and  making  impossibly 
funny  faces. 

"Oi  yoi  yoi!  Oh,  Mamma!  such  a  wom 
an-lady!"  And  then  he  declaimed  dramat 
ically,  "A  lion,  Mr.  Lasser,  a  tiger,  Mr. 
Lasser,  a  rhinoceros,  Mr.  Lasser,  even  a 
rattlesnake — you  can  tame — but  a  vomen, 
never!" 

They  laughed  for  old  sake's  sake. 


232  WILD  OATS 

Frank  was  very  obedient  when  Edith 
gave  orders. 

"Himmel!"  cried  Mr.  Grupp,  holding 
his  cheek  as  if  he  had  the  toothache.  "That 
boy  is  a  sie-mandel!  (a  henpecked  half- 
man)." 

"He's  all  right,"  said  Edith,  petting  him. 
"He's  the  best  in  all  the  world!" 

"Cut  it  out!"  cried  the  brothers. 

"You  should  have  taken  my  advice,"  said 
Mr.  Grupp.  "Fifty  years  engaged,  one 
year  married!" 

How  proudly  the  young  couple  showed 
their  place  to  visitors,  displaying  kitchen 
ware  and  Mission  furniture,  rug  and  clock 
and  silver  and  china.  And  especially  the 
view!  What  happy  Sunday  nights  when 
Mr.  Grupp  and  the  brothers  and  Jonas  Zug 
crowded  the  table  and  ate  cold  slices  and 
pickles  and  cheese  and  cake!  Zug  came 
regularly  now,  and  had  ceased  to  rave.  He 
had  fallen  into  the  comfortable  berth  of 
friend  of  the  family,  and  was  always 
warmly  welcome.  Everyone  liked  to  call 
on  the  Lassers — their  little  place  was  so 


WILD  OATS  233 

radiant  with  their  own  happiness.  One  felt 
the  home-feeling  as  one  stepped  in;  one 
carried  away  the  glow  and  warmth  of  an 
open  hearth  fire.  The  Lassers  took  people 
into  their  home  and  their  heart.  Everyone 
felt  instinctively  that  here  was  a  happy 
marriage,  here  was  a  couple  perfectly 
mated. 

Jonas  would  sit  with  them  till  late  at 
night,  and  all  three  would  remember  and 
laugh  over  the  vanished  days. 

Edith  and  Frank  never  forgot  their  first 
supper  in  the  little  kitchen.  They  had  been 
married  the  night  before;  all  day  they  had 
been  setting  the  things  to  right — hanging 
and  rehanging  and  rehanging  the  four  pic 
tures  till  their  heads  were  dizzy — cleaning 
the  floors — placing  the  furniture — stacking 
the  cupboards.  Now  in  the  warm  evening 
they  sat  down.  Low  overhead  the  light 
glowed  over  the  table  and  their  faces. 
They  sat  opposite.  The  silverware  shone; 
the  plates  were  polished,  the  food  steamed. 
A  noise  of  people  overhead  and  beneath 
hinted  of  many  homes.  Peaceful  and  at  rest 


234  WILD  OATS 

was  the  weary  world.  How  alone  they 
were!  how  human  this  was!  how  devoid  of 
passion! 

They  looked  at  each  other  across  the 
table,  their  eyes  met  and  shone  with  tears. 
They  felt  all  the  holiness  of  their  home. 
This  air  they  breathed  was  hallowed;  this 
food  of  which  they  were  to  partake  was 
sacred.  The  common  lot;  the  simple  hu 
man  things — all  theirs.  And  each  other! 
They  two  alone,  sundered  from  all  others, 
alone  in  their  own  home.  A  deep  wish 
sprang  in  both  hearts ;  the  wish  to  say  grace, 
to  ask  a  blessing  on  their  first  supper.  But 
of  whom?  This  younger  generation  knew 
no  God,  and  spoke  no  prayers. 

Edith  murmured  in  a  low,  sweet  voice: 

"Say  something,  Frank." 

He  knew  what  she  meant.  They  both 
bowed  their  heads.  Frank  spoke  trem 
blingly: 

"God,  be  in  our  homes,  be  in  our  hearts, 
forever  and  ever.  Amen." 

That  evening  they  walked  out  in  the 
Park,  out  in  the  warm  darkness  and  under 
lustrous  stars.  How  candid  they  could  be 


WILD  OATS  235 

with  one  another!  How  much  they  shared 
in  secret!  What  dreams  they  could  give 
each  other! 

Mornings  came — they  rose  laughingly, 
they  breakfasted,  Edith  kissed  her  husband 
good-by,  and  waved  to  him  from  the  win 
dow.  Evening  returned — she  heard  his 
step,  his  whistle,  she  flew  to  his  arms.  He 
told  her  the  day's  news;  they  took  supper; 
they  washed  the  dishes  together;  and  then 
they  sat  and  talked,  or  flooded  the  rooms 
with  phonograph  music,  or  read  the  even 
ing  papers,  or  went  over  their  accounts,  or 
walked  in  the  Park. 

They  were  living  a  beautiful  idyl  that 
seemed  endless.  Quarrels  came,  too;  sharp 
words,  astonishing  both;  then  tears  and 
kisses  and  hours  all  the  sweeter  for  the 
healing  and  the  blessing  of  love. 

Edith  became  a  wonderful  manager  and 
Frank  declared  laughingly  that  two  could 
live  on  less  than  one.  But,  among  the  poor, 
it  is  always  the  woman  who  makes  both  ends 
meet.  What  a  world  of  work — to  figure  on 
chops  and  potatoes  and  flour  and  coffee  and 
butter — on  gas  and  coal — on  necessities  and 


236  WILD  OATS 

luxuries.  Every  Saturday  night  Frank 
handed  over  an  unopened  pay-envelope. 
Edith  gave  him  an  allowance,  and  saved 
out  of  the  remainder. 

"We  must  save — save — save!"  she  cried, 
knowing  well  enough  why. 

One  trip  Frank  made  in  Pennsylvania, 
and  those  ten  days  nearly  broke  their  hearts. 
Then,  by  good  fortune,  he  secured  a  city  job 
and  had  to  travel  no  more.  Their  happi 
ness  was  complete. 

And  so,  as  the  months  glided  on  the  last 
shadow  of  doubt  and  dread  passed  from 
Frank's  mind.  Edith  was  healthy  and 
happy.  The  Doctor  had  had  good  inten 
tions,  but  he  was  mistaken:  that  was  the 
only  explanation.  Frank  thanked  his  stars 
time  and  again  that  he  had  not  followed 
the  Doctor's  advice.  All  was  well,  all  was 
well!  He  never  spoke  the  Doctor's  name 
in  Edith's  hearing,  and  as  for  Edith,  she 
had  forgotten  the  Rasts  entirely.  They 
were  lost  with  the  old  life  in  the  Ghetto. 
In  this  freer,  fresher  life  there  was  no  room 
for  Rasts.  For  if  she  did  for  a  moment 
glance  back  and  remember  her  old  Ideal 


WILD  OATS  237 

and  the  talk  with  Nell,  she  laughed  away 
the  memory  with  her  vanished  girlhood. 

No  word  came  from  them,  either.  The 
brothers  had  moved  to  a  boarding  house 
and  doubtless  the  Rasts  did  not  know  what 
had  become  of  the  family,  and  were  far 
too  busy  to  find  out.  One  can  move  round 
the  corner  in  the  city  and  be  as  lost  as  in 
remote  jungles. 

And  so  the  months  flew.  How  time  does 
really  fly,  lopping  off  the  months,  telescop 
ing  the  years,  till,  suddenly  all  the  world 
has  changed,  old  faces  gone,  new  genera 
tions  upon  us,  and  we  ourselves  hobbling 
into  mystery!  The  months  flew;  the  happy 
marriage  deepened;  more  and  more  famil 
iar  and  common  were  the  days,  sweeter  and 
realer  the  relationship.  Edith  was  a 
woman  now,  sweet,  gentle,  mirthful,  and 
busy.  Her  faults  were  rather  limitations 
than  blemishes.  So  far  as  she  went,  she  was 
all  that  a  woman  can  be.  But  she  went  no 
further — stopping  short  of  many  worlds  of 
thought  and  action.  It  was  not  through 
lack  of  possibilities  in  her  nature,  but  rather 
her  sweet  compromise  with  the  nature  of 


238  WILD  OATS 

her  husband.  She  keyed  herself  to  his 
pitch;  she  met  him  on  equal  ground;  she 
came  down  and  enjoyed  life  with  him. 

As  for  Frank,  he  was  attentive,  thought 
ful,  manly  in  his  own  way.  He  never  for 
got  to  bring  home  the  little  things  that  de 
light  a  woman;  he  never  preferred  others 
before  Edith.  He  worshipped  and  was 
proud  of  his  wife. 

Then  the  processes  of  Nature,  vast,  mir 
aculous,  mysterious,  entered  into  their  lives 
again.  Nature  not  long  leaves  us  to  our 
selves.  One  night,  late,  with  the  light  low, 
as  Edith  sat  on  her  husband's  lap,  laughing 
strangely,  eyes  shining,  tears  glittering,  she 
told  him. 

"Frank." 

"Yes,  dear." 

"I  think " 

"Yes." 

She  blushed. 

"I  think" — she  hid  her  head  in  his  shoul 
der — "I  think  a  little  new  Lasser  is  com 
ing!" 

A  wild  thrill  went  through  him. 

"A  child!    Ours!" 


WILD  OATS  239 

So  the  wonder  of  Fatherhood  and  Moth 
erhood  awoke  in  them. 

Tender  he  was  with  her  through  the  long 
time,  while  our  great  Mother,  Nature,  was 
busy  with  her  divine  processes.  Now  Edith 
would  sit  and  stitch  and  stitch  at  sweet  lit 
tle  baby-clothes — her  eyes  shining,  her 
cheeks  flushed,  her  heart  beating  to  the 
music  of  the  great  Mother.  How  laugh 
ingly  she  brooded  on  little  hands  and  feet, 
and  imaged  out  of  the  air  a  darling  face,  a 
face  like  her  husband's!  How  hard  she 
tried  to  think  good  thoughts,  to  speak  and 
act  divinely.  She  wanted  to  be  a  good 
woman  .  .  .  oh,  how  good  .  .  .  that 
the  child  might  be  good  .  .  .  that  later 
she  might  be  a  good  Mother,  and  help  to 
create  a  good  man  or  woman.  New  powers 
awoke  in  her;  her  face  took  on  a  new  grav 
ity,  a  deeper  beauty.  There  was  more 
meaning  there.  One  read  there  more  of  life. 

One  night  she  spoke  of  what  Doctor  they 
should  have. 

"Could  we  have  Dr.  Rast?" 

Frank  felt  a  pang  of  fear. 

"Tut!  no!    He's  too  far  off,  Edith.    We 


240  WILD  OATS 

must  have  some  one  in  the  neighborhood!" 

"You're  sure?" 

"I  don't  think  he'd  want  to  do  it." 

"We  could  ask  him." 

He  spoke  with  a  touch  of  anger. 

"I  don't  like  him,  anyway,  Edith.  I'd 
rather  you  had  some  one  here." 

"Whom  could  we  have?" 

"Why  don't  you  have  a  midwife?  Every 
one  else  has." 

"I  don't  like  them." 

"Why  not?  You  know  they  cost  less. 
Why,  it's  nothing.  It's  because  it's  your 
first,  Edith.  Babies  are  born  every  day." 

For  days  the  argument  continued,  off  and 
on.  Edith  finally  consented. 

As  the  time  grew  near,  she  had  her  fears 
— secret  fears,  known  to  all  women.  Her 
pain,  too,  she  had,  nobly  borne,  quietly  con 
cealed.  But  pain  was  to  be  expected. 
Nothing  is  created  in  this  world  without 
struggle  and  pain. 

And  so  the  seasons  flew,  winter  gave  way 
to  spring,  spring  to  summer,  summer  to  au 
tumn,  and  the  autumn  grew  red  and  golden. 
It  was  the  time  of  Indian  summer. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

INDIAN    SUMMER 

IT   was   the    time   of    Indian   Summer. 
Mild  was  the  night;  a  night  golden 
with  harvest  and  fruition.     Frank  at 
the   window   saw   the   blood-red   harvest- 
moon,  saw  it  rise  across  the  heavens,  saw 
it  sink  low  and  large  and  disappear. 

He  was  in  his  coat-sleeves;  not  for  a  mo 
ment  could  he  sit  still,  but  wandered  like  a 
caged  tiger  up  and  down,  up  and  down. 
At  times  he  was  crazy  with  suspense.  He 
listened  at  the  closed  door,  and  the  tears 
ran  down  his  face.  The  young  wife  was 
fighting  bravely;  hardly  a  groan  escaped 
her;  but  the  little  noise  cut  his  heart  as 
with  a  knife-blade.  He  would  hurry  to  the 
window  and  lean  out  into  the  night.  Blood- 
red  was  that  harvest  moon!  He  watched 
it,  and  thought  of  the  harvest  in  the  far 
fields,  and  of  the  human  harvest  here. 
241 


242  WILD  OATS 

As  the  night  wore  on,  silence  deepened 
and  deepened.  Suddenly,  standing  still,  he 
seemed  to  feel  the  room  full  of  a  Presence, 
a  Power:  it  swept  about  him:  he  was 
steeped  in  it.  Was  it  God?  Was  it  God 
at  his  mighty  labors?  Was  it  God  creat 
ing  new  life  on  this  planet? 

Slowly  went  the  hours;  higher  and 
higher  climbed  the  blood-red  moon ;  lower 
and  lower  it  sank.  He  listened  and  waited ; 
he  walked;  he  tried  to  read;  he  flung  down 
the  book;  he  stood  at  the  closed  door;  he 
pulled  off  his  collar;  he  opened  a  deck  of 
cards  and  tried  to  play  solitaire.  Nothing 
helped  him;  the  Power  was  there,  at  work; 
he  could  not  shake  it  off.  Steeped  in  it  was 
his  soul.  Oh,  the  divine  mystery!  Oh,  mir 
acle  of  reproduction — out  of  a  seed  a  hu 
man  being;  out  of  a  cell  a  Shakespeare  or 
a  Wagner;  out  of  a  microscopic  particle 
such  wonders  as  we  are. 

Awe  filled  him;  and  pity.  A  soft  pity 
for  women,  who  are  called  upon  to  bear  the 
pain  of  the  wonder,  to  pay  with  their  agony 
for  the  miracle.  A  soft  pity  for  the  young 
wife,  so  young,  so  sweet,  so  happy.  Why 


WILD  OATS  243 

did  she  have  to  suffer  this  night?  He  gazed 
out  at  the  harvest  moon,  which  shone  un 
perturbed  on  the  still  and  fruitful  Earth. 

All  of  the  mystery  of  existence,  the  mys 
tery  of  being  a  human  being,  of  being  born 
and  of  dying,  went  to  his  heart.  He  re 
turned  to  the  center  of  the  room.  He  could 
not  bear  to  be  alone.  He  waited  and 
watched,  he  listened,  he  stood  at  the  closed 
door.  Would  the  ordeal  never  be  ended? 
How  long  must  this  last? 

And  then  he  leaned  out  again.  The  moon 
was  gone.  White  and  trembling  arose  the 
sweet  dawn;  birds  were  somewhere  sing 
ing  in  the  soft  darkness;  a  smell  of  earth 
came  to  his  nostrils  on  rising  wind.  Dawn! 
dawn  was  rising! 

He  stood  back;  a  thrill  went  through  his 
heart.  He  felt  the  time  was  at  hand.  And 
then  suddenly  in  the  silence  rose  a  great 
cry — the  cry  of  the  Mother.  He  felt  faint; 
he  gasped;  put  his  hand  to  his  dripping 
forehead;  cried  out: 

"God!    God!" 

And  leaned  on  the  back  of  a  chair. 

The  door  opened;  the  fat,  red-faced  mid- 


244  WILD  OATS 

wife  came  out.  In  her  arms  was  something 
tiny,  carefully  wrapped.  Frank  was  breath 
less,  almost  afraid.  He  stepped  over.  He 
spoke  in  an  awed  whisper: 

"What  is  it?" 

"It's  a  girl,  Mr.  Lasser." 

A  girl!  He  gazed  down  at  the  tiny  face. 
It  was  real,  it  was  living,  it  was  his  own 
baby,  his  own  child.  Suddenly  his  eyes 
swam  in  tears;  he  crumpled  up  in  a  chair, 
and  sobbed,  sobbed  brokenly. 

A  little  while  later  the  midwife  called 
him. 

"She  wants  to  see  you  a  moment." 

He  staggered  in;  the  tremulous  light  of 
dawn  lay  on  the  room;  and  in  the  bed  the 
Mother  with  the  sleeping  babe  in  her  arms. 
Frank  leaned  near,  Edith  smiled  wanly. 

"Father!"  she  whispered. 

He  thrilled  and  thrilled. 

"Mother!" 

Their  lips  met. 

"Our  baby,"  said  Edith,  "our  little  girl; 
our  little  daughter!" 

What  miracle  is  greater  than  this :  to  have 
a  child? 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  HARVEST 

DOCTOR  RAST  had  seen  and  heard 
nothing  of  Edith  and  Frank  and 
had  forgotten  all  about  them.  It 
was  a  crowded  year  and  a  half — there  was 
much  sickness  with  the  changing  seasons, 
and  the  months  for  him  fled,  too.  Once  or 
twice  he  had  remembered  that  Frank  was 
to  return,  but  as  no  word  came  from  him, 
he  had  let  the  matter  drop.  More  impor 
tant  matters,  people  nearer  and  dearer  to 
him,  had  to  be  attended  to.  Nell  had  often 
thought  of  Edith,  inquired  about  her,  and 
heard  nothing.  She  had  asked  the  Doctor, 
but  he  was  ignorant  as  she.  So  she  won 
dered  in  silence. 

Then  on  a  snowy  Sunday  afternoon 
Frank  came  in.  The  Doctor  had  been  read 
ing  his  medical  journal,  and  his  mind  was 

245 


246  WILD  OATS 

very  busy.  But  when  he  flung  back  the 
door,  and  saw  Frank,  he  woke  sharply: 

"You?    Frank  Lasser?" 

"Yes.    I  want  to  see  you." 

"Come  in." 

Frank  came  into  the  cozy  office,  which 
was  very  white  with  the  snow-light  outside, 
and  was  very  snug  and  warm.  The  Doctor 
noticed  that  Frank's  face  was  drawn  and 
touched  by  wrinkles.  Frank  slouched 
wearily  into  the  office,  and  sat  down  in  the 
armchair. 

"Well,"  said  the  Doctor,  "been  away?" 

"No." 

"No?   What  then?" 

"Don't  you  know?    Haven't  you  heard?" 

"No."  " 

"I'm  married!" 

The  Doctor  felt  a  great  shock  smite  his 
heart.  He  leaned  nearer. 

"Married?" 

Frank  smiled  feebly. 

"Yes,  Doctor,  I'm  married." 

The  Doctor's  face  looked  terrible  at  that 
moment — black  and  stern  and  forbidding. 

"You  married  Edith,  Frank?" 


WILD  OATS  247 

Frank  spoke  in  a  low  voice: 

"Yes— Edith."  Then  in  self-defense.  "I 
had  to,  Doctor.  You  don't  understand,  but 
I  had  to.  I  couldn't  stand  it.  I  took  the 
risks.  I  had  to  marry  her.  I'm  a  human 
being.  Anyway,  I  didn't  believe  what  you 
told  me." 

The  Doctor  could  not  believe  his  own 
ears.  He  reproached  himself  bitterly  for 
not  having  kept  track  of  Edith.  His  heart 
seemed  to  be  smothered. 

"But  at  least  tell  me,  Frank,"  he  said 
with  something  of  a  sharp  groan,  "that  you 
haven't  any  child." 

Frank's  voice  came  on  a  sob. 

"No.    I  have  a  child." 

The  Doctor  spoke  with  the  edge  of  a 
knife-blade: 

"Why  didn't  you  call  me  in?" 

"Oh — you — you  see  you  made  such  a 
row " 

The  Doctor  broke  in  angrily: 

"Then  why  do  you  come  now?" 

Frank  said  nothing. 

"Why  do  you  come?" 


248  WILD  OATS 

The  young  father  spoke  humbly,  simply 
— from  his  heart: 

"Doctor,  my  little  girl;  she's  a  month 
old.  I  want  you  to  come  and  look  at  her— 
her  eyes " 

The  Doctor  gave  him  a  strange  look.  He 
spoke  slowly,  with  a  great  effort,  for  he  felt 
his  heart  tightening  with  dreadful  pain: 

"At  the  birth — did  the  doctor  put  drops 
in  the  child's  eyes?" 

Frank  gasped,  and  looked  frightened. 

"Doctor?  We  had  a  midwife.  No — she 
didn't  do  it  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  this 
that  night?" 

The  Doctor  stifled  a  groan. 

"Because  you  had  no  right  to  marry 
Edith.  And  you  promised  to  come  again. 
Frank,"  he  raised  his  voice,  he  lifted  his 
hands,  "you  went  into  this  with  eyes  open." 

Frank's  lips  parted.  He  spoke  slowly,  in 
a  dead  voice: 

"Does  this  help  now,  Doctor?  It's  done; 
ain't  it?  Are  you  coming  to  see  the  kid?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Doctor  quietly,  "I'm  com 
ing." 


WILD  OATS  249 

Frank  arose,  bowed  his  head — he  was  a 
man  humbled  now — and  spoke  in  a  sob : 

"I — I  want  to  beg  your  pardon,  Doctor. 
You'll  never  understand  how  it  happened. 
But  it  did,  and  maybe — maybe  I  ought  to 
be  forgiven." 

The  Doctor  rose  with  heart  softened ;  he 
drew  Frank  close: 

"I  was  only  thinking  of  Edith,  Frank! 
Come!  We  will  go  to  her!" 

He  put  on  hat  and  coat  and  they  stepped 
out  into  the  soft  white  fall  of  snow.  The 
fresh  carpet  on  the  pavement  was  black 
here  and  there  with  the  indent  of  foot 
prints,  the  red-brick  houses  had  white  sills 
and  copings,  the  horse-cars  came  through 
a  swirl  of  white  and  people  hurried  past 
muffled  to  the  eyes.  Autumn  was  gone ;  the 
winter  of  the  earth  had  come.  The  Doc 
tor  walked  close  beside  Frank. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  something,"  said 
Frank. 

"Yes." 

"About  Edith." 

"How  is  she?" 


250  WILD  OATS 

"Oh— she's  not  well." 

"Gets  dizzy?" 

"Yes." 

"Backache?" 

"She's  in  pain  all  the  time." 

"Broken  up?" 

"She's  not  herself,"  his  voice  broke,  "she's 
not  what  she  used  to  be.  She's  not  so  beau 
tiful  any  more." 

Poor  wild-rose !  The  Doctor's  eyes  filled. 
He  spoke  huskily: 

"Does  she  know  what's  the  matter  with 
her?" 

"No." 

"Or  the  baby?" 

"No." 

The  Doctor  gripped  Frank's  arm: 

"Then,  Frank,  you're  going  to  do  the 
manly  thing.  You're  going  to  tell  her. 
Otherwise  she'll  reproach  herself — she'll 
think  she  had  no  right  to  marry — she'll 
think  she's  a  burden  on  you." 

Frank  did  not  speak  for  a  moment;  but 
then  the  agony  of  the  last  month,  the 
frightful  remorse,  the  black  hours,  spoke  in 
his  voice: 


WILD  OATS  251 

"I'll  do  anything  for  Edith — anything 
in  this  world" — he  went  on  bitterly — "now 
that  it's  too  late." 

The  Doctor  could  say  nothing.  But  as 
they  rode  uptown  in  silence  he  remembered 
the  wild-rose  of  that  enchanted  April.  Oh, 
the  tragedy  of  life,  the  blighting  of  the 
blossoms,  the  crushing  out  of  possibilities! 
Why  did  this  have  to  be?  His  heart  ached 
for  the  young  mother.  He  longed  to  have 
superhuman  power  that  he  might  set  right 
the  wrong  of  this  world.  He  felt  helpless 
and  impotent.  He  felt  as  if  he  were  rush 
ing  to  the  close  of  a  ghastly  tragedy.  He 
felt  as  if  all  life  broke  in  his  hands  and 
lay  in  ruins  about  him.  With  thoughts  in 
a  mad  whirl,  he  climbed  the  three  flights 
of  stairs  with  Frank,  and  they  walked  into 
the  pleasant  parlor.  At  the  window  in  a 
deep  armchair,  cushioned  with  a  pillow, 
Edith  was  half  lying.  The  Doctor  stopped. 
His  heart  seemed  twisted  out  of  his  breast. 
For  was  this  the  wild-rose?  Was  this  sweet 
Edith — Edith  of  seventeen,  laughing  and 
blushing  in  early  April?  She  was  white- 
faced,  thin,  her  eyes  large  and  haunted  by 


252  WILD  OATS 

pain  and  trouble,  her  forehead  puckered 
and  quick  at  twitching,  her  lips  dry  and 
pulled  down  over  her  teeth.  But  it  was  the 
eyes  mainly  —  so  large  and  mournful, 
ringed  with  darkness,  and  very  patient. 
The  Doctor  felt  as  a  father  that  looked 
down  on  his  dead  child.  How  could  the 
Power  of  this  world  permit  such  a  thing? 
Poor  blighted  wild-rose. 

She  looked  up  with  surprise. 

"Doctor!" 

A  flush  of  pleasure  came  to  her  cheeks. 

"Edith!  Edith!"  he  cried,  clasping  her 
hand;  "Edith!" 

"He's  come  to  look  at  the  baby,"  said 
Frank,  twisting  his  derby  through  his 
hands. 

Edith  gave  a  low  cry: 

"The  baby!"  She  tried  to  rise,  and 
added  sharply;  "where's  the  baby — where 
is  she?  Oh!"  She  put  her  hand  on  her 
heart. 

The  baby  was  in  the  little  crib  beside 
her,  quietly  stirring  its  hands  and  feet 

The  Doctor  smiled  sadly:  "Edith!  It's 
always  good  to  watch  a  growing  baby. 


WILD  OATS  253 

Frank's  quite  right.  But  how  you've 
changed!  What  a  woman  you  are!" 

Tears  sprang  to  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Doctor,"  she  said 
quietly,  in  a  way  that  cut  his  heart.  "I 
don't  seem  much  of  anything  good." 

She  smiled  piteously,  and  the  Doctor 
could  hardly  see.  So  this  was  the  end  of 
the  enchantment,  the  sweet  girlhood,  the 
sacred  marriage.  He  tried  with  all  his  soul 
to  comfort  her. 

"But  you  have  a  little  living  baby,  Edith 
—that's  worth  every  trouble,  isn't  it?" 

"Ah,"  she  said,  with  all  the  naiveness  of 
a  young  mother,  "did  you  ever  see  anything 
so  sweet?  Just  look  at  her,  just  look!  I 
watch  her  all  day,  my  little  Emily.  I  wish 
my  mother  could  see  her." 

"Yes,"  murmured  the  Doctor,  "yes." 

Edith  smiled  piteously: 

"Poor  little  thing!  See  how  sore  her  eyes 
are."  She  leaned  forward,  pleadingly. 
"But  it  doesn't  matter,  does  it?  The  mid 
wife  said  they'd  be  all  right  in  a  few  weeks, 
anyhow." 


254  WILD  OATS 

She  gazed  up  at  the  Doctor,  her  eyes 
wide  with  question. 

But  the  Doctor  did  not  answer.  He 
looked  away,  delaying  almost  instinctively 
the  fatal  moment.  He  felt  as  if  he  could 
not  look.  He  felt  as  if  he  could  not  look. 
His  pulse  missed  a  beat,  his  blood  surged 
up  about  his  temples.  Then,  slowly,  he 
leaned  close  over  the  crib.  Frank  came 
very  near,  slightly  stooped,  and  watched 
with  haggard  eyes.  The  Doctor  search- 
ingly  examined  the  tiny  face.  Then  he 
slowly,  and  with  shaking  fingers  drew  the 
swollen  lids  apart,  and  looked  in. 

He  stood  up  straight  then,  and  all  the 
pathos  and  tragedy  of  life  seemed  to  go 
through  him  like  a  dreadful  night.  What 
could  he  say?  What  if  this  were  his  own 
child?  He  stood  a  moment  looking  down 
at  Edith,  his  face  lighted  with  struggling 
pity  and  love. 

Edith  spoke  quaintly: 

"Don't  you  think  she's  very,  very  love 
ly?" 

The  Doctor's  voice  was  almost  inaudible, 
and  pure  with  divine  tenderness. 


WILD  OATS  25$ 

"Yes.  She  is  more  lovely  than  ever  I 
have  seen  in  my  life — Edith!" 

"Yes,  Doctor." 

"You  must  be  a  good  mother  to  her." 

"Yes,  Doctor." 

"You  must  be  twice  a  mother  to  her." 

"Yes,  Doctor." 

"Because,"  he  said  slowly,  "she  needs  you 
twice  as  much  as  other  children  need  moth 
ers." 

Frank  bowed  his  head  to  his  doom. 
Edith's  eyes  changed  strangely,  filling  with 
a  wild  light. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Doctor?" 

How  soft  his  voice  was,  how  tender: 

"I  mean — little  Emily  isn't  like  other 
children.  She  hasn't  any  pain,  but  it's  a 
trouble  just  the  same." 

Edith  felt  lightning  strike  her;  she  sat 
forward. 

"Doctor!— Doctor!  Tell  me  what's  the 
matter  with  the  baby!" 

He  leaned,  put  a  hand  on  her  shoulder, 
and  while  his  heart  seemed  to  wither  within 
him,  spoke  very  gently: 

"Edith— the  baby  is  blind." 


256  WILD  OATS 

Edith  rose  up,  rose  straight  up.  She 
gave  a  wild,  strangling  cry: 

"Blind?  Blind?  Emmy  blind?— Good 
God!  Good  God!" 

She  leaped  to  the  crib,  the  Doctor  mak 
ing  way  for  her,  she  snatched  up  the  child, 
and  stared  at  it. 

(<Emmy  blind?  Good  God!  My  heart! 
My  heart!  Emmy!" 

The  little  one  whimpered  plaintively. 
Then  slowly — a  weird  and  terrible  sight— 
the  mother  passed  her  finger  before  the 
baby's  eyes,  fluttered  the  ribbon  of  her 
sleeve  above  the  tiny  face,  stared  nearer 
and  nearer  like  one  possessed.  Suddenly 
she  put  the  child  down,  stretched  out  her 
arms,  and  shrieked.  It  was  a  cry  as  when 
the  child  was  born.  Frank  sank  on  a  chair, 
groaning.  The  Doctor  seized  her  arms, 
and  whispering,  "Edith!  Edith!"  pushed 
her  into  the  chair  again.  She  leaned  for 
ward  staring  at  the  Doctor.  He  stood,  eyes 
half-closed,  and  pain  and  pity  on  his  face. 

"Edith,"  he  said  quietly,  "think  how 
Emmy  needs  you — and  will  always  need 
you!" 


WILD  OATS  257 

Edith  clenched  her  fist,  looked  up,  and 
shook  it. 

"God,"  she  cried  hoarsely,  "you  punished 
us — we  were  too  happy.  I  hate  you,  God, 
I  hate  you.  Make  a  baby  blind!  I  hate 
you!" 

Was  it  the  wild-rose  speaking? 

Then  in  the  awful  silence,  Frank  arose. 
The  time  had  come;  the  great  moment  had 
arrived.  His  face  was  ashen,  writhing  with 
agony.  He  began  in  a  low  voice: 

"No,  Edith,  it  wasn't  God.  It  was  a 
human  being.  Maybe  it  usually  is.  It  was 
I,  Edith." 

The  Doctor  looked  at  him  sharply.  The 
dreadful  words  fell  on  Edith's  torn  heart, 
and  she  gasped. 

"You?" 

"Yes,"  he  went  on  quietly,  "I.  Before  I 
married  you  I  sowed  my  wild  oats.  I  went 
around  with  women.  And  then  I  got  into 
trouble.  I  went  to  the  Doctor  and  he  told 
me  not  to  marry  for  a  while.  He  told  me 
what  might  happen — about  you"  his  voice 
broke — "and  the  baby.  I  honestly  meant  to 


258  WILD  OATS 

tell  you  and  go  away.    That's  why  I  went 
up  to  the  country  to  see  you." 

Edith  breathed  sharply,  the  revelation 
pouring  light  into  her  mind. 

"Edith,"  he  stood  sobbing,  "what  could 
I  do?  Do  you  remember?  How  could  I 
help  having  you?  Oh,  I  was  so  sure  the 
Doctor  was  mistaken!  I  was  so  sure  I  was 
all  right.  Edith!"  he  cried  sharply;  "I 
loved  you  too  much,  and  now,"  his  shoul 
ders  wrenched  coarse  sobs,  "what  have  I 
done?  What  have  I  done?" 

He  threw  up  his  hands,  sank  at  her  feet, 
buried  his  head  in  her  lap. 

"Mother!  Mother!  I  ought  to  be  killed! 
Forgive  me!  Forgive  me!" 

Edith  looked  from  side  to  side,  and  kept 
moistening  her  lips. 

And  then  the  Doctor's  voice  came,  came 
as  \f  he  could  not  speak  for  utter  love: 

"Children— Edith,  Frank.  What's  done 
is  done.  And  the  worst  has  been  done  that 
can  be.  Take  up  your  lives  as  they  are, 
and  use  them  well.  There  is  still  love— 
you  have  one  another.  Make  up  for  your 
losses  with  more  love,  purer  love;  for  in 


WILD  OATS  259 

our  poor  human  world  that  is  the  only 
healer.  Oh,  give  each  other  that,  give  each 
other  much  of  that" 

He  paused. 

"Edith" — he  leaned  near — "love  him 
enough  to  forgive  him.  He  has  made  a 
clean  breast  of  it.  He  loved  you  enough 
for  that." 

Edith  did  not  stir. 

"Edith — he  is  your  husband." 

Again  there  was  silence,  and  the  Doctor 
spoke  sweetly: 

"As  for  that  little  child — much  can  be 
done.  And  possibly  in  the  years  to  come 
little  new  children  will  laugh  in  this 
house,  play  about  here  on  the  floor,  cling 
to  your  knees.  Oh,  take  up  your  lives,  take 
them  up,  and  go  on  to  what  human  glories 
there  are.  Frank — Edith!" 

Again  there  was  silence. 

"Edith." 

"Yes." 

"Forgive  him,  even  as  a  mother  forgives 
her  only  child." 

Then  suddenly  Edith  lifted  the  low  head, 
lifted  it,  put  her  arms  out  and  drew  his 


260  WILD  OATS 

body  toward  her,  and  kissed  and  kissed  his 
face,  and  both  sobbed  brokenly,  heart-brok 
enly  together. 

"Edith!" 

"Frank!" 

"Oh,"    she   sobbed,    "Frank — husband- 
why  didn't  you  tell  me?  Why  didn't  you 
trust  me?" 

"Mother,"  he  cried,  "forgive  me!" 

"Ah,"  she  murmured,  "what  else  can  I 
do?    I  need  you — I  need  you  so  much!" 

"Edith!"    Then  he  spoke  low:     "Here 
after  I  will  never  hide  anything." 

The  Doctor  murmured  gently: 

"Now,   indeed,   you   are  truly  married. 
Now  you  are  man  and  wife." 

And  he  passed  out  into  the  storm.    And 
as  he  wiped  at  his  eyes  he  muttered: 

"When  will  the  young  men  understand?" 

And  then  again: 

"Yes — the  women — they  always  get  the 
raw  end  of  the  deal." 

And   up    in   the   little  parlor   into   two 
broken  hearts  the  first  rays  of  perfect  mar- 


WILD  OATS  261 

riage  stole,  not  without  a  touch  of  glory, 
not  without  a  touch  of  victory. 

But  the  little  blind  baby  said  nothing, 
but  lay  there.  Blighted  was  our  wild-rose, 
our  sweet  Seventeen ;  sightless  her  first 
born.  The  sowing  was  of  wild  oats;  and 
this  was  the  harvest. 


THE  END. 


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